


Oh Brother, I Will Hear You Call

by Rhoverty



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Blood and Torture, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flashbacks, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, I needed an outlet for my violent tendencies, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, I’m the Oprah Winfrey of agony, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pain, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Dick Grayson, Sexual innuendos, Sibling Bonding, Whump, all the pain, cussing/cursing, everybody gets hurt, he gets hurt, honestly, this was the result, you get hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhoverty/pseuds/Rhoverty
Summary: Being kidnapped by crime lords and psychopaths has always been a constant in the lives of being a Robin and a Wayne.If the Rouge’s weren’t using Boy Wonder against the Bat, then it was ransomers wanting to earn a quick fortune from the big man himself.Unfortunately, not all kidnappings were fun and games like the residents of evil made it out to be.Sometimes people wanted information. Important information that was liable to get someone killed.And some were willing to do anything for those secrets.





	1. Water’s Sweet but Blood is Thicker

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write a fluffy story but this one grabbed me by the scruff and was like;
> 
> “Girl~ You can’t write fluff to save your life. Stick to something you’re good at, honey!”
> 
> So I did.
> 
> My pain is your pain. Enjoy!
> 
> Side Note - No Beta. All mistakes are mine.

“ _Wrong answer.” And he sent thousands of volts into his neck, their prongs piercing through the skin and sending his body into a wave of painful convolutions. The boy screamed, a ragged horsed thing that graded against their ears._

_“Please! **Please**! Stop!” The other begged, pulling at their bindings – ignoring the chaffed skin as crimson coated the metallic links. _

_No amount of pleading halted the electricity that flowed through his body, nor did it silence the agony of screams until suddenly, they broke, the voltage taking its place in the silence._

_“Bruce Wayne! Bruce Wayne is Batman!”_

 

* * *

  

Rain tapped against his helmet as he glared off into the port ahead. Lightening flashed across the area, drenching it in white before vanishing and thunder taking its place in its wake. A light thud settled besides him. He didn’t need to look to know who was there, just listen to the blabber that was pouring from the mans mouth.

“What?” Jason all but growled, adjusting himself to alleviate the spikes of pain jutting through his hip.

“Just came to see what you were doing.” Dick grinned, leaning over the ledge, getting a better look at the nothingness that blanketed the asphalt below.

Jason grunted, glare darkening as he stared ahead, noticing a mild, inconspicuous shuffle of movement. One of such which happened beyond and near one of the many shipping containers dotting the port. He focused on that, adjusting the visor within his helmet to zoom in on the unsuspecting target.

Dick frowned, seeming oblivious to the brewing commotion below. He leaned closer, toward the bigger vigilante until they were almost touching.

Without glancing down at him, Jason raised a brow. “Any reason you’re in my bubble?” He growled irritably.

“Just wanna know what you’re doing.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Dick sighed and retracted back to his original stance - out and away from his brother.

Jason payed it no mind, besides the slight tension in his shoulders releasing, and focused solely on the people shuffling around the port.

They went about. Several of the men armed with automatic weaponry, while others stood around, chatting with one another brainlessly.

“Drug trade? Weapons cache? Gang dispute?” Dick whispers besides him, disrupting his train of thought instantaneously.

“None of your damn business.” Jason growled, jerking to the side and away from his leering brother – the same who huffed in frustration.

“I wanna help.” Dick jutted out his bottom lip, and Jason wanted to cut if off with his knife. However fun that would be, he didn’t want to deal with the backlash from the Bat – or _Bats_.

Thinking it over, while simultaneously noting the black SUV pull up to the docks (a few yards away from the shipping container), he rolled his eyes. The thought of this being _his_ case was almost completely overriding the honeyed concept of backup. It wouldn’t hurt, having someone there to watch his six in case it backfire – which he had a sinking feeling it might.

Everything in the atmosphere, the sudden cliché storm, ominous lightening, and miscalculated number of men - screamed wrong. Something was up, and he knew, deep down, tonight was not the night to deal with this sort of situation alone.

No matter how _annoying_ the company may be.

Dropping his head with a sigh, Jason relented.

“Fine.”

Dick almost jumped for joy at the deceleration.

“Sweet. Fill me in!”

And he hunched over, hugging his knees to his chest as he patiently waited for Jason to explain the situation.

Without looking up from the men that exited the vehicle and walked over toward the container, he grumbled:

“Falcone is meeting a new buyer for drugs. New buyer not from Gotham. Part of cartel down in Mexico. Assumptions lead to Falcone wanting to expand his criminal enterprise to more than just Gotham and the New Jersey area.”

Dick nodded along, turning to pay attention to the commotions down below. From what he could see, one of Falcones lieutenants was in the middle of a dispute with the head honcho of this _new_ _buyer_.

“Names?” Dick inquired.

Jason pointed toward the lieutenant.

“Bobby Russo. Newly appointed by Mario himself.” Dick opened his mouth to question that but Jason answered it beforehand. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

He then pointed toward a flamboyant character, hands waving about in a fit of frustration.

“Theo Santiago. One of the gang leaders of _Barrio_ _Azteca_. Primary operations are Mexico – obviously – Texas, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and maybe a few other states. Past few years they’ve been expanding. Dealing with more cartels and crime family syndicates – such as...” He waved his hand out toward the dealings.

Dick hummed with a slow nod.

Theo Santiago seemed to be growing impatient with the long discussion Bobby Russo was babbling on about – given the agitated growl and draw of a gun. Once the weapon was pointed at the other mans face, did the guards quickly follow and pointed their own weapons at the man.

Jason nodded his head toward the commotion. “Come on. I need information and I can’t get that when they’re all dead.”

“I’ll follow you’re lead, Lil Wing.” Dick grinned, standing up and stretching out his arms – hands reaching for the lighting that flashed through the clouds and the rain that pouring from its darkness.

Jason rolled his eyes and shot his grapple in the direction of the overhead crane. Dick was quick to follow behind, and soon they were rolling to a stop along the metallic catwalk – the proceedings down below seen through its holes. Now the threats were obvious, the way the gun was waved about made it seem things were about to escalate into more violent territories. That is if the issue didn’t get resolved soon.

“You lis’en here, _burro_.” Santiago snapped, digging the muzzle of his gun into the mans forehead. “You don’ get to do th’ proceedings. You don’ make th’ rules! You list’n to us if yer boss wan’s to work with _el_ _Barrio_ _Azteca_. Got that?”

Unsurprisingly, Russo was calm, face fitted neutrally as he adjusted the cuffs along his suit, unfazed by the gun digging into the skin of his head.

“I understand you well enough, _asino_.” He snapped, brows knitted in dark irritation as he looked down at the smaller man. “But you do well to understand who’s calling the shots here. This is Gotham after all. And did you forget?”

The mans lips quirked into a smirk as he used a single finger to push the gun away from his head.

“This city is home to pesky _bats_.”

And he looked up, staring directly at the two vigilantes above.

Jason glared right back while, besides him, Dick tensed slightly, readying himself for a fight.

“Come now, boys, I don’t have all night. Let’s get this over with shall we.” Russo waved his hand absently then went about fixing his other cuff.

Santiago growled and pointed the gun up toward the brothers and fired quick, uncalculated shots right into the metal of the crane beneath their feet.

Dick and Jason quickly jumped out of the way, diving off to the side.

Rolling and skidding to a stop, Jason was quick to whip out his pistols and fire back – the retaliation sending everyone to scatter like roaches.

Santiago quickly snapped out orders toward his men, while Russo nodded toward his own, unfazed by the commotion.

Dick was hovering over the edge of the crane, escrima sticks out and ready. He glanced toward his brother and jerked his head toward the commotion. “Which side you want?”

Jason cocked his head to the side, popping his neck in the process while waving his gun toward Santiago and his men. “I’ll take the gang, you deal with the three musketeers.”

“Seriously?”

“You wanna deal with a bunch of pack rats with guns?” Jason glared, barely flinching at the bullet ricocheting off the crane and chipped the paint of his helmet.

Dick frowned before sighing. “Alright, I’ll deal with Falcones mutt, you deal with the others. Just try not to kill anyone!” He snapped before leaping from the crane and landing on the top of the SUV.

“ _Just_ _try_ _not_ _to_ _kill_ _anyone_.” Jason mocked with a roll of his eyes and leaped into the fray, landing and rolling to a stop on top of the shipping container.

Santiago jerked his head about, looking for the two vigilantes, unaware of the bright red helmet peaking down at him with an unamused scowl settled behind it. A gun shot went off right besides him instead - one of his own being the cause besides him.

He snapped his attention toward the younger man – one of which was staring up and pointing the weapon in the same direction with shaky hands – retort about ready to cross his lips in a fury of words. Before they could leave the cage of his mouth, blood sprayed across his face and the younger hit the ground, grasping his shoulder as he cried out.

“Peak-a-boo.”

Santiago quickly snapped his head up and found himself staring at the tail end of the vigilantes gun, less than a foot from his face. He growled and pointed his weapon right back at that upside-down fluorescent red helmet – his reflection staring back at him.

And pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

 

Dick rolled off the car - hood creaking under his weight slightly - as a bullet wizzed passed his cheek.

“Hey, now. Did anyone tell you it’s rude to shoot at someone.” He criticized, landing on his feet and dodging the fist coming for his face.

Grabbing onto the mans arm, he twisted and threw him over his shoulder – their body hitting the ground with a harsh _thud_.

“Did anyone tell you it’s rude to interrupt business?” Russo lobbed back, glaring at the vigilante, hand in his pocket.

Dick grinned as he twisted around, drilling the tased end of the baton into the other guards exposed side. They let out a harsh scream and hit the ground in a heap – the fight ending a little quickly than he’d like. He rolled his shoulders while turning and facing the older man, confident smirk decorating his cheeks.

“Possibly, but I probably wasn’t listening.” Dick retorted.

Russo scuffed with an eye roll. “Alright, well. Guess you gotta teach ‘em yourself.” He grumbled and launched himself at Dick, hand free from his pocket and wielding a decorative stiletto.

He jerked his head to the side, blade soaring across his cheek with a strip of blood staining its blade, and drilled his knee into the mans chest.

Undeterred, Russo sent his fist toward the younger’s face, only to hit the solid muscle of his bicep, and a fist sent crackling into the front of his face, blood spurting from his nose.

Russo staggered, holding his hand up to his face, blood coursing through his fingers. Dick grinned, readjusting himself while twirling the baton in between his fingers.

“Funny, I thought Falcones men were suppose to be tough.” Dick began. “You’re turning out to be a bit of a disappointment, _if_ I’m being honest.”

“What,” Russo growled, ignoring the pain throbbing against his face. “Like you?”

That twitched Dick’s smile slightly, teetering it onto the edges of a frown.

“That’s just rude, man. _So_ insensitive.”

And Dick was at it again, twisting his body around to swing his leg up and drill his heel into the mans face.

Russo caught it will easy, the vibration of it hitting his palm amplifying the grinding throb of his face. Dick paid it no mind, simply jumping up, swinging his other leg around and drilling his toe into the mans ear.

After that, Russo hit the ground, groaning as he cradled the side of his head, no doubt a concussion in the brews. Dick rolled his shoulders again then slowly pulled his head to the side, popping his neck – releasing the sharp tension along his shoulders and back.

“That was fun. Let’s see how Jay’s doin’.” He mumbled to himself as he twirled around just in time to see Santiago pull the trigger of a gun - point blank - to his baby brothers head.

The lead embedded itself into the metal of the shipping container, as its deafening ring buzzed in Jason’s head.

He tsk-ed unamused and pulled the trigger of his own, no shadow of remorse fixing itself along his features as the bullet tore through Santiago’s shoulder.

The man cried out, clutching the bleeding wound and stumbled back – tripping over his feet and hitting the ground behind him.

Jason relaxed his grip while adjusting himself, before pushing off the container and flipping off in a back-flip motion. A sharp jolt electrified up his ankle upon landing, but he ignored it fluently and glanced over his shoulder to glare at the man.

“Who da hell are you?” Santiago growled, ignoring the trails of blood seeping through his digits, staining the white of his shirt.

Jason spun the gun in his hand as he reached behind and pulled out a curved blade from its sheath along his back.

He stocked over, form hunched and head tilted in mild amusement. He twisted the blade in his hand, shuffling it through his fingers with practiced ease before easing his boot on the mans hand – whom of which thought it wise to shuffle back.

A jolt of terror shuttered through his spine as that red helmet bent down and stared into his face. His horror stricken features stared back, each color of emotion mirrored in its shade.

“ _I’m_ _your_ _worst_ _fucking_ _nightmare_.”

And he drove the blade into Santiago’s bleeding shoulder – hand and all.

Dick growled under his breath, watching the moment play out and recalling the horrible times he’d caught his brother in the act. Doing things to human beings that should never be done. Bleeding them out like stuck pigs, exploring all types of methods in which to inflict pain, anything and everything that was under the classification of _torture_.

This act reminded him of a predator playing with his prey. A panther staking its next meal while occasionally making itself known through the undergrowth of trees, enticing a reaction from the boar it hunted. Grinning as it sprinted off into the thicket only to be caught in its instance of weakness.

One of the many reasons his brother _still_ scared him – maybe even more than Batman, or a Rogue ever could.

There was a reason Joker took pride in the Red Hood. He did have the biggest part in creating him.

“Hood!” Dick snapped toward the other.

Jason groaned, turning his head to glance at the elder.

“What?” He retorted.

“I said no killing!”

“Don’t worry.” Jason waved him off while swiftly yanking the blade from Santiago’s shoulder – blood coating its curves and tainting the air.

The man yelped, crimson pulsing from his hand and his shoulder as it screamed at him. He thudded onto his back rolling around in agony.

“I didn’t have plans on killin’ em.”

 _Yet_ , went unsaid but it still sent a chill down Dick’s spine.

“Yo-you freaks are gunna p-pay!” Santiago stuttered, yanking his uninjured hand free from under Red Hood’s boot and cradling it.

Jason raised an eyebrow from beneath the helmet. “Oh yeah?” He sneered, enticing the challenge.

Santiago let a grin sweep across his features, pain pinched along its edges but not deterring the malicious intent that crawled across it.

“Jay...” Dick cautioned, his gut twisting with uncertainty.

Jason glanced at him for a second just as Santiago pulled out a little cylinder shaped device, thumb hovering over its red trigger.

“How did governor say it once?” Santiago smirked, as Dick grabbed onto his brothers arm and tugged him away.

“Ah, yes. _Hasta_ _la_ _vista_ , _baby_.”

And he pressed the button as the shipping container behind them exploded in a raging ball of fire.

Dick yanked his brother behind him as best as he could, but the force careened them back, sending them crashing against the asphalt – their bodies skidding across the surface, tearing their uniforms like sandpaper across wood.

Dick gasped mind flailing with pain as it tore across his body and bled into his bones. The ringing in his ears grading against his skull as he slowly pulled himself from the asphalt. A sharp hiss snapped across his lips and he hit the ground again, fire exploding across his abdomen.

He blinked drunkenly, hand clawing at the crumble of gravel as he rested the other on the pain flaring along his form. Through the torn gloves of his uniform, something stuck to their digits.

Something _wet_.

Something _warm_.

Internally his stomach rolled as he lifted his hand up and saw the bleary beads of color staring through the blue of his palm. He thudded his head back against the ground, the shock absent among the rest of the fire screaming across his body.

He moved his head to the side, the flames that licked the docks flickered in and out of his haze of vision. The putter of rain drowning out the footsteps that thudded through puddles and stood over him.

The only thing his mind could focus on was the limp form of his brother. Tuffs of ebony and white peering through crimson cracks. Exposed skin coated in black and red. The innate urge to reach out and make sure his baby brother was okay overruled the agony licking along his body.

His hand scabbed against the ground, fingers digging into the loose rocks and reaching out to his brother.

Only to have a crushing weight press atop his fingers – threatening to break them.

His brows knitted, as those cerulean orbs stared at the shinning dress shoe grinding his hand into the dirt. A muted growl stung his throat as he followed the leg up to see the glint of the cufflink within the hand of its owner, the white cuff itself tainted in crimson.

“I only thought the red one would show up, _if_ I’m being honest.” The voice began, waving his hand as the words tore through the muffling of Dick’s ears.

Hands wrapped around his arms, yanking him to his feet as a cry tore across his lungs and pain flared through his veins.

A hand latched onto his chin, gloved thumb pulling down his bottom lip. A newly broken nose and croaked pearls centered in his vision.

“But I’m glad you tagged along, big bird. This is going to make _everything_ that more interesting.”

Dick could only bore his gaze into the mans bloodied face, wishing he had heat vision to burn that smug look off his cheeks.

Russo released his chin and patted his cheek with a dark grim conforming along his lips.

“Don’t forget Hood.” Russo added, raising to his full height and fiddling with the cuff.

Always fiddling. An action that slowly eroded at his thoughts.

He glanced down at Dick.

“He’s the whole reason we set this up.”

The elder watched as two other men – those he hadn’t seen in the fight from before – walk toward his brother.

Dick snarled as they bent down and grabbed his arms, hoisting him from the ground. A sharp pang tore across his chest as the younger hadn’t fought back, or even moved for that matter. Not even a snarky quip and threat.

His brother wasn’t vulnerable, never acted it, never looked it, even refused to acknowledge he would ever become that.

Yet, here he was, completely helpless and at the mercy of Falcone’s lieutenant.

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking touch him!” Dick growled, ignore the sharp jolts of pain flaring across his body when he pulled at the men holding him.

Bobby Russo could only stare down at him and _smile_.


	2. Endless Roads To Rediscover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated my dudes!

_They screamed._

_And they screamed._

_And they screamed._

_Back and forth like a band of wild dogs, snapping at each other for territory or food. Constantly bickering and fighting._

_Over this._

_Over that._

_When he was younger – naïve – he’d shelter himself beneath the dinning room table. That gangly mutt by his side, when his father had_ _yet to dumped her out in the streets. Keeping him company when his mother and father argued until the sun came up._

_Or went down._

_Now..._

_Now, he kept the cold floor warm, hidden behind the massive, over turned chair. That yellow and green cape tight around his shoulders as he quivered in those stupid pixie boots he’d never be able get used to. Replying those nights over and over, like a broken record with no end in sight._

_His adoptive father, a man he’d come to look up to as a mentor and see as the parental figure he craved, snapped at his would be brother. The one person who told him they could trust one another. Gave him a number to call when things got tough – even if the possibly of using it was low. Took him out to eat the types of food Alfred banded. Taught him how to talk to girls. Took him to movie specials and plays._

_Taught him that life wasn’t always a look over the shoulder._

_The two people he thought the world of, were arguing like his parents before it all._

_Before the alcohol, which claimed his father._

_Before the drugs, which claimed his mother._

_Before the streets, which claimed his innocence._

 

* * *

 

Oblivion was a haven, where the world beyond – which was splashed into his face with a bucket of iced water – was hell.

The lights too dim.

The room too cold.

The walls too close.

The people too still.

The implications too obvious.

“Wakey, wakey. Eggs and bakey.” A voice cooed above him, raking through his ears like nails on a chalkboard.

He jerked his head to the side, pulling from the sudden voice. The voice too close and too shrill. But didn’t get far until someone was slapping their hand onto his head and yanking at his ebony locks. Pulling his head until it was pointed up and facing ahead.

The cold tendrils of water coated his face, trailing down his cheeks in a cascade of grime and crimson as it dribbled down and over the sharp lines of his jaw. It pooled against his lap and the ground below.

He hissed, defensively trying to jerk from the grasp only to have the wind heaved from his body as a fist collided with his stomach.

“Leave him alone!” Another snapped – growled, like an animal defending their property.

This one was familiar, painfully so as he cracked open his orbs and was met with cerulean ones staring back. A haze of pain obstructing their vibrant color, but the swirls of panic were as clear as the blood which drenched their uniform.

“‘Wing?” He groaned, tone almost too quiet even for himself to hear.

The elder beamed a moment, the panic gone but back at the snap of a finger. Just as a form stood in front of his vision. The gleam of a white dress shirt contrasting against the black suit – and the ruby red that coated it in blotching speckles.

Defensively, his brows knitted, a pathetic growl brushing his lips as he met the man standing before him.

Jason wanted to gouge the amusement from the mans eyes as he met him face on. A smirk decorating his lips, crinkling the black and blue that blossomed under his eye and climbed across the bridge of his nose.

“Welcome to the land of the living, kiddo. Glad you could join us.” Bobby Russo mused, patting his cheek with a gloved hand.

The look he got in return was one of poisonous green and murderous intent as the boy jerked his head away from the gesture. Without his hands bound behind him – rope burning against the skin of his wrists – Jason would lunge at the lieutenant and pop the humor from his eyes like cherries.

Russo casually ignored the look of the younger male and turned to face the other across from him.

Standing at his full height, Bobby Russo was a beast. Much taller than Dick could ever hope for as he toward over him, malicious intent floundering along the dark of his orbs. The smirk never losing its luster as he fiddled with the collar of his shirt. Each step he took in the empty space between them was loud, thunderous, and if the brothers weren’t used to men on a high horse of entitlement and power, Dick probably would’ve shivered.

Russo bent down, same as he did for his brother, and huffed in Dick’s face. Cigar breath frothing over his features as a gloved hand came up and rested along his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t show any type of emotion toward the gesture, but that didn’t stop his mind from screaming in his ear about danger.

Leather coated fingers dug into the meat of his shoulder, nails piecing through the glove and indent the Kevlar.

Over the man’s shoulder, he could make out those toxic green orbs burning a hole into the man’s skull. However, from the brief movement of observing him, Jason looked okay. None of the damage he’d seen from the explosion seemed as serious as he’d rationally thought, but that didn’t mean nothing was wrong on the inside. There were obvious signs of a concussion, but nothing so serious that it could warrant a concern – not that these people would do anything about it at this rate.

“Here’s the deal...” Russo murmured in his ear, words echoing in his skull and for a second, Dick wondered when he’d gotten so close.

“You’re going to answer my question.”

A cringe twitched across his brows as lips brushed along the shell of his ear. Instinctively, he tried to jerk away, but the hand on his shoulder kept him steady – grip tight enough to bruise.

“And I’m going to beat the other guy,” He gave a muted nod toward his brother, one of which looked ready to rip his arms off and bite the man. “Until my knuckles bleed.”

Dick’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as he sent a heated glare of his own at the blond hair next to his face.

“You touch him and-“ Dick began, voice dripping with venom before Russo was in his face again, brow quirked in amusement.

“You’ll what?” He challenged. “Kill me?”

Russo wagged his finger as he pulled away, hand removed from the bruising grip on Dick’s shoulder. “No, no, no. I don’t think so, birdie. Bats like you don’t kill. This one though,” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder and toward his brother. “Sure. I’d believe ‘em. But you?”

The man’s laugh was a dark chortle that vibrate along his throat. “Don’t make me laugh.”

He could feel the edge of his teeth chipping under the grinding pressure as he tightened his jaw.

“What do you want?” Dick snapped, jumping straight into the demands this maniac wanted, voice gravel to his own ears without repentance for emotion. Everything within his very form was screaming at him to get out of here. Slip out of his binds, grab his brother and run. No good was to come of this predicament, and it made his gut twist something fierce.

“I’m glad you asked.” Footsteps pounded against the floor until Russo was standing besides Jason, hand clamping down on the younger’s shoulder. A retort was braced on the boys lips before a Butterfly was twisted across callused hands and the blade hovering before those toxic colored orbs.

Anger bubbled in his form like lava, overriding punctual thought and catapulting him into a surge of protective rage. His brows tightened until it almost hurt, and he glared at the man who hovered around his brother.

“I need _you_ ,” He whipped the blade around until it was pointed at Dick. “To answer one measly question, _**but**_.” A grin twisted across his face, crinkling the discolor along his features.

“I want to hear you _scream_ it.”

Dick fluttered with the retort on his lips before he met his brothers gaze. In a instant, he noticed the mischief that colored their orbs. His mind wasn’t quick enough to protest before Jason’s unrestrained foot jutted out, cramming into the back of Russo’s knee.

His leg gave out, crippling him to the ground in a heap. The other almost went and broke his jaw before the men in the room went about, quickly restraining the younger.

They latched onto his legs, pulling them up and away from harm – though Jason did his best to yank them free and drill the husky man in the neck. While another went and wrapped his arms around his neck, restraining him in a choke hold.

Jason set his jaw, teeth grinding down as he dug his chin into the mans forearm, trying to slip it up just enough to get his arm within bitting range. With a little luck and the weaker man not putting at much effort into depriving him of air, he was able to slip his chin under and clamp down. Points of his pearls sinking into the meat of the man’s arm, the taste of copper pooling along his tongue as his canines pierced skin.

The man howled in his ear, immediately letting go and attempted to reel back. But Jason had his arm like a dog to a chew toy. While he kept his jaw set, he tried to kick at the other holding his legs captive. The husky man struggled to keep them in his grasp, but just as one slipped, that booted heel was hounded into his jaw with enough force to chip the man’s teeth and crack molars.

Instinctively, his legs were let go and just when he was about to twist his body around and break Russo’s jaw for real, cold steel was stabbed into his thigh.

Jason yelped enough for his teeth to dislodge from the weaker man’s arm. He yanked it back, cradling it against his chest.

Feet smacking against the ground, the blade was yanked from his leg – it’s serrated edge carving through his flesh. The hiss that shuttered through his teeth was halted as Russo was instantly in his face, the cold ruby tinted blade digging into his neck as fingers intwined with his ebony locks and yanked. Pulling his head up and pressing the blade deeper into the pulsing veins along his throat.

“Cute.” Russo panted, swinging his leg over and crowding Jason’s body against his own. “Little kitty’s got claws, eh.”

Jason only growled in response.

The blade dug deeper, thin red line forming along his skin, threatening to draw blood.

Russo leaned closer, inches above the younger’s face as he grinned, tongue carting across his lips.

“Don’t!” Dick snapped, voice giving into a light waver.

Russo froze, eyes widening ever so slightly at the sudden plea. He raised a brow as he glanced into burning toxic green orbs. The emotion that fluttered through their color shifted its shade for a moment – sparks of blue expressing waves of conflict.

Turning toward his company, Russo stared – studied – Dick with a sharp gaze. Those cerulean orbs stared back, desperation tainting their color. His jaw was set, body hunched forward – the ropes most likely digging into the skin of his wrists.

“Don’t what?” Russo mussed, lips quirking into a lick of a smirk. A dark lust settling in his gaze as he sunk into the blue of those eyes and the emotions that expressed so openly.

“Leave ‘em outta this.” Dick began, voice slow, each word meticulously thought out. “You wanted to talk to me. So, talk – to – _me_.”

Russo’s brow raised a notch more and he parted his lips to replay only to have a dishearten scoff in response.

Jerking his head back to the younger, he noticed the boys expression change into something more amused. Yet, tendrils of trepidation swam across his gaze.

“Yer wastin’ yer time.” Jason ground out, attempting to keep the light waver of voice under raps – drawling on an old accent to keep it hidden.

“Yer tryin’ ta use me against ‘em. Basic torture technique, lil old school fer my tastes – but, ta each their own, ya?” He leaned forward, digging into the retreated blade – allowing it to carve into his neck with threats of slitting it open.

“But it ain’t gunna work, Goldilocks. He doesn’t care about me.” Much to his dismay, his brows twitched and for a moment, his gaze wavered into denial.

Russo studied that second with a keen, unwavering eye.

“He never has.”

 

* * *

 

_“What’a ya say? You, me, dinner at that diner on ninth and then a movie after. Annabella just came out a few days ago, thought maybe we could go see that one.” Dick grinned, hand stuffed in the pocket of his jeans while the other cradled his phone.  
_

_Jason stared up at him, eyes filled with waves of wonder as he thought on it.  
_

_Alfred wouldn’t letting him have overly greasy foods because apparently being malnourished was a bad thing. And apparently he needed to stay on a special diet to compensate for the lack of nutrition in his system and the rigorous exercise regimen too – for Robin.  
_

_So, obnoxiously unhealthy foods were a big no-no in the manor.  
_

_But, when Dick showed up once a month to hang out with him, he’d take him out to have foods he’d never ever heard of.  
_

_He’s had all the junk food he’d ever wanted to try during those weekends.  
_

_Seen movies Bruce wouldn’t ever let him see until he was grown up and out of the house.  
_

_He’d even have more fun on patrol when he got paired with Nightwing.  
_

_That alone usually made up for the fights between Bruce and Dick.  
_

_Fights that always scared him that something bad would happen and he would be put to fault._

_It wasn’t a rational thought, he knew that, but he couldn’t help to think that maybe if he hadn’t said this, or that. If he’d just be like Grayson, then maybe they wouldn’t fight as much about Robin.  
_

_He’s thought about what would happen if he just stopped being Robin. If he’d just give Dick back his name and position at Batman’s side. Maybe they would stop fighting.  
_

_But...  
_

_He didn’t want to give it up. Robin gave him magic and opportunities he’s never had before.  
_

_Ones like going to school.  
_

_Going to bed with a full stomach every night.  
_

_Making new friends – in and out of the superhero community.  
_

_And the best one yet, being part of a real Family.  
_

_He didn’t want that to go away, and if he gave Dick Robin back, then...  
_

_He’d be on the streets again. Picking pockets and stealing car parts for a quick buck. Maybe even working the streets when he got a little older. He could find work for Penguin or Two-Face – if the half and half didn’t put two and two together about him and his real dad.  
_

_He could make it work sure, but, he loved this life.  
_

_He didn’t want it to go away so soon.  
_

_So, he could deal with the fights, even if one day, they’ll turn onto him._

_And experience has always taught him; it was never **if** , it was always **when**._

 

* * *

 

Dick stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief coloring their orbs as something glistened in their corners.

The words were spilling from his lips long before he could process their meaning.

“No...” He breathed, tone heartfelt and aching with emotion.

“No, don’t say that.” He shook his head, fists clenched behind his back and grinding the fibers of rope into his wrists.

His mind screamed at him to halt the words before they came into existence. Rationality belittling him for his stupidity to keep the flow of emotions as exposed as they were.

This was wrong. This was what those dark orbs, staring at him with malicious intent, wanted and he was feeding the devil his sacrifice.

But his tongue kept about, flopping in his mouth like a fish out of water. Spewing out useless necessities that the feelings in his mind begged to bring to life.

He wanted – _needed_ – to prove his brother wrong. That he cared.

God did he care. But he wasn’t suppose to rise to the bait, to prove those words wrong.

This wasn’t the moment.

This wasn’t the time.

But...

He’s always been more of an emotionally driven individual, and sometimes – that was his biggest fault.

“That’s not true, _Little_ _Wing_!”

Russo watched the desperation flood the mans face with glee. A twisted sense of relief carting through him upon the confession.

Maybe he was waiting for a real reason to beat Red Hood into something unrecognizable.

Maybe he wanted to break more than one bat.

No matter the true intent, he was happy either way and expressed himself by standing to his full height and gripping those duel toned locks in a vice grip.

The boy hissed accordingly, brows tightening and lids twitching. He might’ve done more, but with the amount of blood gushing from the hole in his thigh, it hindered those attempts.

Such as it was intended.

“Didja hear that, _Little_ _Wing_?” Russo mocked, the nickname rolling off his tongue with dark grace.

Callused pads dug into Jason’s cheeks as Russo gripped his face – knife still grasp within his palm – and pressed their faces together, cheek to cheek.

“He _does_ care!”

 

* * *

 

Time became a construct. Never stopping but never passing. With pain being his only constant a minutely – hourly – daily routine, there wasn’t room to think of the day nor its hour.

The only idea of a clock was when the beating came to an end, and home became a cell.

It was a dark, grimy thing without windows to the outside, but bars that exposed him to the rest of its inside.

Without a bed – or even a blanket to soften the hard floor beneath his body – he slept in the seeping cold.

Well, when they allowed him.

His form ached, every inch of his body burning as agony licked across his limbs. A shift in of his leg sent flames licking up and across ever nerve under his skin. A hiss snapped across his lips and his expression tightened, pulling at the crusts of blood coating his brow and peppering the bruising against his cheeks.

Slowly, he cracked open his eyes, lashes pulling apart with the salt that clung to their strands. Everything swirled along his vision, blurred at its edges and morphed together like a modern painting. Dull colors and diluted lights kept the growing heading at a manageable level – a love tap of pain compared to the rest of his body.

For a moment, he was still, not wanting to move a hair and risk aggravating anything beyond repair. He took that time to observe his surroundings, take in all that began to sharpen into focus. The shine of rusted bars. It’s creaking hinges that phantom in his mind. The flicker of the overhead light and that repetitive drip-dripping of a broken pipe just outside the cell.

It looked as bleak as he felt with little hope of escape. With a small pointed object, he could easily pick the lock of his cell, but he didn’t know the layout of the building. One wrong turn and he’d end up in a hell of a lot worse situation – if the bruises along his body was anything with his back talk.

Even that was hard to keep up with. Without hope for escape, keeping the sarcasm at the tip of his tongue was all he had when things got worse. At own point they threaten to staple his mouth shut – Dick put an end to that before it could even begin, though.

Since then, he feels like he’s lost his voice entirely, even the thought of talking pained his throat.

Without his wit and running mouth, he wouldn’t know any other way to push past the pain. Sure, he payed for it in the long run, but it brought amusement to his eyes when he watched the men grow increasingly irritated at his jabs. Insulting their job, how they tortured him, every little mishap Jason took advantage of, even if cost him.

Shifting his form – even just a fraction – sent a crackle of pain through his body. Those hitched breathes rippling across his ribs and tearing through his throat. Copper coated his tongue and grated along his lips. Sweat, blood, mold, _filth_ flooded his nose with their overpowering scent when he tried to breathe through it.

In an instant, his mind shifted. Thinking of the smell that festered within his cell. The remnants of dried crimson and stagnate air of overwhelming body odor.

That alone clung to the hairs of his nose and stung.

He didn’t want to know what the ground he was laying on, was covered in. The types of dirt and bacteria that cling to his uniform and caked the bits of exposed skin.

Bare fingers brushed over the cold cement and came back coated in moist browns. Grains peering through the layers and taunting him with their filth.

His breathing stuttered and behind the pain, the expressions of his brother that trickled into his thoughts – horsed words and begging tones – his mind spiraled into a panic. An attack that had nothing to do with the unknown pain spiking across his form.

Had nothing to do with the lack of bodies that weren’t surrounding his cell or comforting words that came from besides him.

Had nothing to do with the lack of knowledge on how much time had passed.

Had nothing to do with the growing abandonment that twisted his stomach until it hurt.

No, what had his mind spiraling into a panic was the dirt that covered the ground.

The drip-drip- _dripping_ of contaminated water splashing against the concrete.

The bacteria that seeped into his wounds and mingled with the sweat that clung to his form.

He closed his eyes shut, hoping in vain that if he couldn’t see the damp, claustrophobic cell, then none of what his mind was imagining was real. But even with his orbs hidden, he can still smell, hear, _taste_ the bitterness that surrounded him.

It reminded him of the streets.

Their thick scent of poverty. The disgust that clung to the clothes too big for his ten year old frame. Like sleeping on a cardboard box he scavenged from that dumpster behind _Riley’s_. The _skrt_ - _skrt_ of rats rummaging through the gutters. Sirens echoing in the distance but drowned out by gunshots that had him sitting up with a start.

His heart beating through his chest as he jerked his head side to side, staring down each end of the alley in search of anyone or anything.

But there’s nothing.

There never is.

Just the working girls on the corner. Joe slumped against the rain gutter across from him, snoozing with an amber bottle limp in his grasp. The street cats curled together under the yellow glow of lamp hung above the buildings back door.

There’s a light drizzle in the air, one that the newspapers didn’t predict. But it wasn’t enough for a complete relocation. He could deal with it – he’s slept in the snow before, so this was nothing.

His body heaved a sigh, tension easing for a moment. Small hands scabbing the ground for purchase until they grasped onto the fabric of his bag. Yanking it into his lap, he cradled the luggage against his chest. Protectiveness fogging his mind over the small amount of possessions within his grasp.

He closes his eyes, nail coming up to pick away the dirt and crust at the corners of his orbs.

Then something’s screaming in his ear, and he jerks with a start – body bursting with pain as his eyes snap open.

He’s in the cell again, just as a flash of white blinds him and the screaming turns into a blaring alarm. It only seems to grow louder as he presses his palms against his ears, fingers gripping the ebony strands of his hair.

The sound grades against his head, spiking the burning ache fluctuating across his mind. The oncoming symptoms of a migraine are magnified to the point of whimpering. It feels like someone’s drilling into his temple and taking a hammer to his forehead, right above his eye.

He curled into himself, ignoring the agony that drenched his body with every little movement. Pulling his knees up to his chest and keeping his eyes screwed shut until it hurts.

Then everything stops.

No longer is there a burning light blinding his retinas behind closed lids, nor that piercing sound which tore into his mind.

There’s still a ringing in his ears – like the onset of tinnitus in complete silence. The sharp pain jutting through his skull hadn’t gone away, but, without immediate treatment the migraine wasn’t going to up and disappear for another few hours.

With his body still tense as wire, joints aching beneath the strain, he peered open his orbs – a blotch of white blinding a single eye – and quickly looked around.

It was dark, almost pitch black, and it took some time to adapt to the sudden void. But once he blinked it away, he could make out the bars of the cell. Their deluded color drowned out by-

Jason jumped – cursed himself for it after – and stared at the figure standing behind the bars. Their dark eyes looking at him, head slightly cocked in what could only be pinned as curiosity.

Belittling himself, Jason pulled what little of his thoughts back together and glared.

“Like wha’ ya see?” He didn’t recognize his own voice it was so horsed. It’s tone carving through his throat and grading on his ears.

The man chuckled, a demented thing that sent a chill down the boy’s spine, and righted himself.

“You know...” The stranger began, voice rich and strong compared to the rasping squeal of Jason’s.

“I’ve always _assumed_ that Red Hood was an older man. Someone bitter at the world for whatever wrong it had committed against him. Maybe an old military vet with a fix for heroism – but teetered toward violence, like he was trained. But, look at my surprise when we find out that the _big_ _bad_ Red Hood – is just a _**boy**_.” The man drawled, hands tucked behind his back, shoulders squared but stance relaxed.

This wasn’t Russo, that much was obvious, but something about him had Jason’s instincts screaming at him to _run_ and _hide_. The small child in the back of his mind a weeping mess of emotions. Huddled in the corner while pleas decorated his lips.

This man reminded the boy of him.

 _Willis_ _Todd_.

“You’re brother,”

Jason tensed, brows narrowing slightly as the man gazed at him intently. He’d be _pissed_ if he wasn’t so utterly and instantly _terrified_.

Feeing like those black orbs were picking him apart. Piece by agonizing piece. Playing with his mind like a fiddle and antagonizing him with selected words. All while standing so intently _relaxed_.

“He’s quite the soprano when we make him sing.” The man continued, tossing two fingers noncommittally.

“Unfortunately, he hasn’t been very talkative – unlike how the rumors make it out to be. _Nightwing_ ‘The Hero That’ll Make Your Ears Bleed’.” He waves his hand in the air for emphasis on the title – punctuating each word with a thrust of his fingers.

“But, no,” He sighed. “Instead, he threatens us. And my, oh my, does he get creative. _Touch_ _him_ and I’ll make you eat your fingers through a tube. _Touch_ _him_ and I’ll take the nearest sharp object and shove it up your bum. _Touch_ _him_ and I’ll take a cheese grater to your skin!”

A _tsk_ brushed the mans lip as he shook his head.

“Yet, he doesn’t give us the answers we want. You won’t talk. That much is clear. You’re the type of character to slit his own throat than to give away secrets – even if they’re small and meaningless.”

“But yer not askin’ for ‘ _small_ ‘ _nd_ _meaningless_ ’.” Jason inquired after a moment, words murmured as he studied the man warily.

If he kept him monologuing, than maybe they’d stay away from Dick. They were suppose to hurt _him_ , not his older brother. Why the sudden change, he didn’t know. But, as much as the angry, rabid part of his mind denies it;

He cared about his family.

He didn’t want them getting hurt for his mistake – whatever that may be.

Nonetheless, the man nodded with an approving smile twitching across his lips.

“Indeed. However, I find all of this... barbaric _nonsense_ to be unnecessary. I don’t _enjoy_ any of this as much as you do. If it were _me_ in charge of this operation, I’d leave you boys out of it and put two and two together.”

Jason raised a brow, stiffly sitting up – biting his lip against the sharp jolts of pain – and curled up against the wall behind him. From what he could tell, this man wasn’t out to hurt him right now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to in the next moment.

Either way, he wrapped his arms around his body, hugging himself as his hands clutched his ribs. As he pulled his knees up to his chest, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that blossomed in the back of his mind. His own voice taunting him at how _pathetic_ he was acting. Like a sniffling little child hoping for forgiveness.

He pushed it away as he wetted his lips and cleared his throat.

“An’ wha’s that?” He needed to fish for information while the stream was still running.

“Who’s the man behind the mask.” The man supplied, stepping toward the cells door with graceful ease. “The true identity of _Batman_ – and what better way than to ask his _Robins_.”

“I don’t-”

“-know what you’re talking about. Yes-yes I figured you’d say that.” The man shook his head, hands slipping into his pockets. “Unlike those dimwitted lads, most of the _intelligent_ underground syndicate knows, that most of Gotham’s vigilantes are _actually_ Batman’s sidekicks from before.

“Nightwing, Red Robin, Black Bat, the purple one, and now...” He quirk a smirk. “ _You_.”

As much as he tried to keep his expression and emotions in check, Jason returned to glaring at the man. Brows tightly knitted, pulling at the blood crusting along his forehead, and jaw clenched to the point his teeth ground together.

“I have to say though. I was stumped for a while when we ripped that helmet of yours from your head – cute bomb, by the way – and couldn’t for the _life_ of me figure out who you were. The others though, well, they were itching to their hands on you.

“Young, vulnerable, attractive, and hated throughout Gotham’s underworld. They wanted to take you and turn you into a play thing. Have you live the rest of your life as a toy to be passed from one pedophile to the next.”

The man cocked his head again, studying his expression as he fiddled with the information along his tongue.

Jason kept the glare, but his thoughts were stirring. The simple _idea_ of being so vulnerable around those types of men made his skin crawl. It reminded him of the offers he’d get while on the streets. The remarks, the jabs, the comments, the unwanted brush of a hand.

The thought of it made him sick. Still did, especially with the sexual glances and obnoxious noises that he encountered while walking the streets without his helmet. It wouldn’t be the first time someone wanted to do things to him he didn’t want to think about.

He’s had one too many remark him with it off.

Before, he’d shoot those that got too close. Turn them into an _example_ for the next.

Now, he did everything to keep the helmet on. It’s why he had as many spares as he did. To keep his face _hidden_.

That’s the biggest reason _for_ it – no matter what his brothers poked fun at – it wasn’t to be dramatic. It was to keep _him_ safe from leering gazes and crude remarks, along with other casualties that came with the job.

“Luckily for you, I reminded them of Mr. Russo’s operation. Why you and your brother were of importance in the now. So, to compensate, the lads torture your brother. Whispering lewd fantasies into his ears. Going on about all the _nasty_ things they want to do to his _little_ brother.”

His gut twisted and his gaze faltered but he forced himself to keep still. Keep his expression fixed, even if his instincts were screaming at him; save his brother, save himself, gain more information, run, hide, _killkillkill_.

Just a breath of those words, and the remnants of the pit were crawling across his fear and threading into his mind.

He shook it away, along with every image of himself and his brother at the hands of a monster, and pressed his palms into his eyes as he willed the overwhelming froth of green from his vision.

The anger within him wanted to _use_ the pits madness. Use it to escape then take the mans head into his hands and shove his thumbs into those black eyes.

To ground his face into the cement until it grated away like wood to sandpaper.

To crush his hand in between his own and bend his arms until they broke.

To bash his fist into his face over and over and _over_ and _**over**_ until-

Hands were gripping his shoulders.

Jason’s body tensed with a start and the man was _right_ _there_ , inches from his face – brown eyes staring into his own.

How come he hadn’t heard the door? It was loud, each hinge squealing in protest every chance it opened.

Nor his foot steps. Each stride was magnificent for the guards when they walked by, even when they were quiet. The emptiness of the area forced an echo from anything that wondered its halls.

He couldn’t even sense his presence until he grabbed his shoulders. Anyone else, and he could _feel_ them. Like electricity crackling through the air, everyone’s presence made his hair stand on end even when they were within a few _hundred_ feet from him.

As soon as someone looked in his direction, he knew.

When someone walked up behind him, he knew.

When they breathed in his presence, he _knew_.

But this-this _man_ was in his space and _touching_ him and he didn’t know. Hadn’t felt a thing until he was _right_ _there_.

Rationality told him he was in the midst of a panic attack and wasn’t thinking straight. That this sort of thing was normal – not the right situation to be emotional unstable, but nonetheless. The delusion of certain senses during this sort of thing was _normal_.

 _Irrationality_ told him he was weak. He _should_ have known. Should’ve guessed when he walked in front of the door. Should’ve just _assumed_ the worse like always. Shouldn’t have allowed this man to see this sliver of weakness. Witness him spiral himself into an attack when he should’ve had this under control.

Jason tried to pull away, backed himself further into the wall, but there wasn’t anywhere else to go. But as the man’s hands traveled across his shoulders and curled around his neck, he was frozen.

He _wanted_ to attack. Jut out his foot and kick him in the stomach. But terror clung to him in a vice and all he could think about was another set of hands around his throat. Beer breath frothing over his face as those hands choked the life out of him. Lifted him from the floor and slammed him back down again and _again_ until he was a blubbering mess of apologies for something he hadn’t done.

“ _M’sorry_. _I_ - _I_ _won_ ’ _do_ _it_ _again_. _P_ - _promise_.” He sobbed up at his father, trying to pull at the hands constricting around his neck.

He wheezed when they didn’t let up and frantically gripped his fathers arms, tugged at their hairs and clawed into his skin. Ragged nails leaving behind bright red lines and beads of crimson.

His father growled, slamming him back against the ground again until his mind swam and tears trailed down the sides of his face.

He watched, expression withdrawn as the boy spiral into a memory, triggered by this small, inconceivable notion. Hands wrapped around his wrists, nails digging into the cloth of his sleeves – listening with a frown as the boy begged. Nothingness falling from his trembling lips as he murmured worthless apologies.

It only confirmed one of his many theories.

With a sigh, he untwined a hand, easily pulling from the boys grasp. Slipping into his pocket, he pull out a small syringe and tugged the cap off with his teeth.

Gently, he placed his other hand onto the boy’s face, thumbing away a stray tear while inserting the needle into his neck.

Within seconds, those teal orbs fluttered, his whimpers dwindled until they were only a motion of his lips and his form sagged against the wall – the full weight of his head resting in the man’s waiting hand.

He sighed.

“I really hoped you weren’t who I thought you were, Jason Todd.”

 

* * *

  

“Did he beat you too?”

Dick jumped at the sudden voice, head jerking up as he looked past the swelling around his orbs.

It was _him_.

The same individual who stood off to the side, watching him get beat within an inch of his life. Who played mind games with him and the others. Who treated his wounds when they left and told him everything going on with his brother.

He didn’t like this guy, not one – single – bit, but he’s... helped more than hurt. So, he raised a brow, pulling at the gauze along his temple.

“Wha’?” He slurred, tone rasped and cooper coating his tongue, slipping into the cracks of his lips.

“Your father – Batman – did he beat you too?”

Bruce? No, no of course not. Maybe play with your emotions and not _tell_ you things for months on end, but _beat_ him?

No. Hell no.

Knowingly enough, he shouldn’t be saying or admitting anything to this man but, he couldn’t help but feel like he already knew. Put two and two together, after he called him out by name. Then Jason too. It freaked him out sure, but not as much as it should have. So, he shook his head, slow enough to keep the headache at a minimum, but definite.

“Right,” The man nodded, glancing around the room before stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Then it was his biological father I’m assuming.”

Dick was confused and worried. Had something happened to his brother. This wasn’t exactly the safest place nor situation, and with these type of men surrounding them at a constant, Jason was at risk.

He wouldn’t _ever_ admit it, but people scared him. Especially men and Willis Todd was to blame – sure Bruce hadn’t helped, and then with Joker being responsible for his death.

But men always made him nervous, even if they were predictable unlike women, and his brother was scared of them too.

Sheila watched him while Joker went about beating him – that was quite a story Jason confessed when he was drunk out of his mind – and Talia played horrible mind games in order to turn him into a weapon against Bruce.

People _scared_ him. Where men were always physical, woman were always manipulative.

Overprotective panic washed through him as he thought up countless scenarios. Were those _freaks_ finally enacting on the things they went on about in his ear? Was he hurting? Begging? Pleading? Who the _hell_ was responsible? Was it Russo? Those piece of _shit_ guards?

 _Him_?

“He had a panic attack.” The devil confessed. “Mind you, it wasn’t trigger by nothingness. I may have provoked it, but I just wanted to prove a theory.”

“By hurting him!?” Dick snarled, pulling at the restraints along his wrists.

“No, by talking to him. As you’ve noticed, words are just as dangerous and deadly as any weapon. Play them in the right way and you can bring any man down to his knees, in your brothers case though, I wasn’t enjoying myself.”

Dick growled, chaffing his wrists in a vain attempt to wrench his hands free.

“Nonetheless, you have three hours. Once the sedative wears off, he should have enough energy to help in your endeavors.”

Even with his jaw still clenched, teeth grinding, he was instantly skeptical – trailing in thought that this man drugged his little brother.

“Wha’er you...”

Like magic, a key appeared from thin air and twirled around the man’s fingers.

“By the time the light gets to this line,” He used the device’s serrated edge to carve a white line into the wall. “It’ll be time. Your brother will be awake and the guards will have been off to take a small break. Those five minutes should give you plenty of enough time to escape.”

“You’re... helping us?” Dick drawled, even the swell around his eyes squinted in hesitation.

The man gave another sigh, one of exhausted defeat.

“There are better ways to figure out the identity of someone. Torturing their children, _isn’t_ one of them. But, desperate men do desperate things. Especially if their position of power is at sake. Mr. Russo is a very desperate man and learning the identity of Batman – whom is already known by Falcone _himself_ – would give him the leverage he wants and the power he craves.

“For now though, your brother needs you. Mr. Russo has plans for him, ones that could cripple him for life if you don’t escape _now_. Understood?”

Dick could only nod mutely, expression lessening in its dark intensity, watching as the man placed the key out of sight on top of the doors frame, and faced him once more.

“Remember, you have three hours. Don’t screw this up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had plans to have this chapter out sooner but life was like; Nah~
> 
> Anyways, sorry for the wait! I wanted this chapter to be a Very Certain Way. The emotions needed to be Just Right, and the flashbacks needed to flow in and out of the present with ease. 
> 
> Hopefully I nailed it. I’ve been editing it for the past four days and bout ready to tear my hair out. All cuz 3am brain doesn’t know how to help 3pm brain and makes life harder!
> 
> -Rhoverty
> 
> P.S. I’ve decided on 4 chapters


	3. What If I Lose It All?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i have no excuse...
> 
> <3

_“Why do you and Bruce fight a lot?”  
_

_When arriving to pick up Jason from school he thought of all the types of conversation starts he could go with. Icebreakers that could swim with how the kid rolled.  
_

_What Dick hadn’t expected was for him to jump into the car, slouch in the seat and drop kick that question into his face.  
_

_He cleared his throat, waiting for his brain to reboot and answered. Answered as honest as he dared while sculled the other drivers as he pulled out into the street.“Cause he’s an asshole.”  
_

_“I got that but...” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the younger look down at his hands, picking at his nails. “You fight **every** **time** you’re around each other. Why can’t you just...” He shrugged, voice dipping like he was speaking into his chest. “I donno, hug it out or somethin’.”  
_

_I wish it was that easy, he thought but opt to answering differently.“I guess it’s because...”_ _He sighed, the leather of the steering wheel creaking under his grasp. “It’s because its just not that easy...”  
_

_“Sure it is.” He glanced over and saw Jason looking at him. Maybe it was the childishness of that statement or the way those bright blue orbs were looking at him with such determination, but he wanted to laugh – be it a little hysterically.  
_

_“Jay...” Dick dragged a hand down his face as he stopped at the light. “Just... don’t worry about it, okay. You’re too young to understand.”  
_

_“Yeah...” He retreated to looking back at his hands, voice mumbled into his chest once again. “That’s what he said too.”_

 

* * *

 

Through the trickle of crimson and sweat that trailed down his cheeks and fluttered over his lashes, he watched that light as it crawled across the makeshift wall until it feathered over that white line. That same one carved into the wall. The one that dictated the time of his escape, as much as he felt reluctant to obey it.

Once that sliver of yellow trickled over the carving, a fierce determination sunk its nails into the meat of his skin.

Cerulean orbs darted across the room, noting the back that faced him, the man hunched over a table – various tools fiddled in his grasp. Types of tools that had carved lines and shapes into his body. Tore across his uniform and scar unblemished tones. Tools he’d love to use to repay the favor given the chance.

However, he prioritized, watching his form as it shuffled and his back move with each breath. Fabric tussling with the move of his arms, mumbling absent words to himself, going on about what he’ll do next. He breathed – soft and slow – ignoring the man and turning toward the one who hovered besides the frame of the door, the gun slack in his grasp.

The deep breath he took burned his throat, expanded bruised lungs and trickled copped along his tongue. He body begged for a cough, but stifled it and fiddled his gaze until it settled on his main torturer. Still, they went about with their tools, mumbling inconsistencies and stuttered curses. He took that moment to drawl into the fragments of a plan. Years of Robin tied with his time in the Blüdhaven PD and now current vigilante life, trained him well in the art of deception and distraction.

Clearing his throat he drawled; “You gunna keep starin’ or ya gunna do somethin’?” Each word burned across his vocal cords, tearing through the ligaments and carving into his chest. But he let the agony simmer, lifting his head to face the two as they turned to face him – expressions unreadable, but forms stiff and jagged.

The guard stayed silent, grasp on his weapon tightening while the other held a screwdriver in his hand – the dull of its metal glinting in the soft sun light.

“Watch yerself, boy. Yer only gunna make dis worse fer yerself.” The man ground out, the accent of the illiterate slinking into his words.

Dick couldn’t help but grin, pearls coated in a film of pink, the copper staining his lips and coating his tongue. The taste as bitter as the tone along his words.

“Not one for surprises.” The younger began, giving a halfhearted shrug – it’d almost be causal if it didn’t pull at the crust of blood that soaked past his uniform. “That said. How bout we speed this up, eh? I got stuff ta do, people ta see. You know how it is.”

The man glared and his grasp on the screwdriver tighten until his knuckles went white.

He then stocked up to his chair and raised the tool – ready to bring it down into the boys arm. Well, until Dick set his jaw and drilled his heel into the mans knee. He let out a cry and crumbled to the ground as Dick jerked forward and cracked his head against the mans face.

Blood exploded from his nose as he yelped and collapsed to the ground, cradling his face. The guard was instantly jerking up, pointing his gun at the vigilante. He took a step too close, and easing his chair back – two pegs in the air as he balanced on their rear – Dick shot his legs out.

They crushed the mans throat as he sputtered and yelped, but his head cracking into the wall silenced them, body crumbling in a heap on the floor.

Dick let out a breath, giving into the coughs that racked his form – pain flaring through his abdomen and burning up his throat. Luckily waves of adrenaline keeping the truly blinding pain flaring across his body, at ease. Nonetheless, he was able to slip his hands from the ropes that bound them – dislocated thumbs and blood making it easier – and reach for the key resting atop the door frame.

He sent a look toward the man wriggling on the ground, whimpers puttered past his lips. Dick rolled his eyes unimpressed, but he reached down and yanked the man up by his collar.

“Where’s the Red Hood?” He growled, the rasp in his tone dropping it an octave. For a brief moment, the man looked terrified. The color swirling through but twisted into malice as a dark chuckle gurgled past the blood splattering his lips.

“Wha’ ya gunna do? Kill me? Ha, y’all bat’s don’ kill.” He huffed, voice wet as a grin painted his cheeks. Crooked, yellow teeth, shown through the curl of the mans lips, but Dick returned it with ease – faltering the mans own.

“True. But,” He lifted the man up until he was an inch from his face, those black orbs widening as fear churned through their color. “You’re gunna wish I did.”

And muffled screams carried through empty hallways, disappearing through oblivious laughter.

 

* * *

  

The dwindle of adrenaline that drained from his body brought every scrap and scratch along his form, to life. Flaring through his nerves like gasoline added to a ragging bonfire. It burned across his body, placing a hitch in his breath and stumble in his step. If he wasn’t running on the fumes of determination, he’d collapse against the wall before even making it out the door.

He shook his head, hand clutching his side, the warm blotch of crimson seeping through the cracks of his fingers and shuttered through his body. Chills trickled into his veins with the power of a brewing storm. It tapped along each rib and vibrated through each breath. His vision swam, the hallway twisting and turning past the flicked of each groggy blink.

“ _Fuck_.” He growled, the word echoing in the empty hallway. Each step and his feet dragged across the stone, threatening to send him to the ground in an exhausted heap.

_Adrenaline_ _was_ _a_ _**bitch**_ _when_ _it_ _lost_ _its_ _luster_.

Dick groaned, hand reaching up to clutch the wall besides him.

He was half tempted to stop, take a breather maybe even just collapse – give into his bodies demands.

Just when he was about slump against the brick work, his foggy gaze landed on a _very_ familiar boot.

Jumping into action, mind sparking to life, he limped as quick as his form could, and practically slammed into the bars of the cell – hands wrapping around their metal like his life depended on it. Cerulean orbs widen as far as the patches of swelling would allow and rested on the limp form of his little brother.

He was on his side, face slack and, upon, closer observation, was breathing as steadily as his lungs would allow. He didn’t even look as terrible as every picture Dick’s imagination spiraled to life made it out to be.

_Thank_ _God_.

Shaking out of his stupor, Dick whipped out the key, and slid it into the lock. He half expected it to not work, for this to all be some horrible trick. That man was prone to mind games after all. Dick wouldn’t have put it past him to drop this type of hope in front of him like a carrot on a stick. But, when the door unlocked and opened with a squeal, relief flooded his form and released the dark tension built up along his shoulders.

Pocketing the key, he quickly rushed to his brothers side, sliding across the floor on his knees – ignoring the sharp puncture of pain that crawled every nerve in his body – and pulling the younger’s form into his arms. Using two fingers, he prided open one of those discolored lids, teal orbs visible through dark lashes. They were blood shot, a glassy haze pulled over its color, but responded well enough the the low light of the room. He counted that as a win, but the bruising and crusted cuts that crawled across his cheeks and neck were a different story. Long ago did they look to stop bleeding, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t scar – just several more to add to the collection.

Dick was pulled from his inspections when a groan pulled across Jason’s lips, those orbs fluttered for a moment.

“Jay?” But just as the name was crossing his breath, a fist was snapping his jaw shut, teeth clamping on the edge of his tongue.

He let go of his brother and hit the ground with a wet, uncomfortable _smack_. Blood dribbled past his lips as it filled his mouth. He hissed through his teeth, hands hovering over his chin – drops of ruby dripping into his palm.

“Fu-“ Then another was cinched around his throat as a knee dug into his ribs and his ankle flared, pain licking up his leg.

Instinctively, he latched onto the wrist that belong to the hand around his neck, nails creaking into the black sleeve. Wide, cerulean met burning green – all traces of blue gone beyond the luminous color that swirled in his little brothers orbs.

No longer was the insanity that bled into its shade there. Instead, the pure lust for murder took its place. Sometimes he forgot that his brother was one of the most terrifying forces out there. A man that had built his empire on the blood of the ignorant and bold. A man that stared insanity in the face and laughed. A man that proved a point by cutting the heads off the wealthy and displaying them before gods. Because when he looked into those orbs, he no longer saw a young man in that gaze. One that was broken and rebuilt by the city he grew up in and the people he loved.

No.

Those were most definitely the eyes of Death.

And he was at their mercy if he didn’t act quick.

Jogging his mind, breath sputtering between his lips as he tried to slip in tendrils of air, he raised his hand. A sign that he’s _not_ a threat – at least not an _active_ one. Even allowing the younger’s name to trickle through his wheezing breath in hopes of breaking through to him.

For a moment – as that hand tightened around his throat, nails digging into his skin and spine – he thought it was hopeless. That his last thought was Bruce’s disappointment, his families guilt, the fear that would undoubtedly latch onto his brother for being the cause of his end.

Then, the hand was gone and the weight across his body disappeared in an instant. There was the faint scuff of soles digging into the dirt and something thudding on a nearby wall as he dragged a hand over the bruises forming a ring around his neck.

He coughed, greedily gulping in air like his life depended on it, curling into his body as he tried to ease the pain that scattered across it, all while trying to regain his breath.

“Dick?” Jason asked, voice fluttering between exasperation and fear as his hand reached out. It hovered in the air before he pulled it back as soon as Dick took in a gapping breath and glanced at him.

“M’fine.” Dick wheezed, another cough racking his lungs as he sat up, hand resting along his side while the other rubbed his throat.

“Dick... I... I didn’t mean – you just – you... Don’t...” _Don’t_ _scare_ _me_ _like_ _that_.

“Hey,” Dick eased, hand reaching out – deliberate, as he kept it in his brothers vision – and inching toward him until he was within reach to rest it on his shoulder. “It’s fine. I should’ve known better.” He let his cheeks crinkle into a warm grin, feeling the tension drain from the younger’s shoulders slightly.

“Alright,” Dick removed his hand and got to his feet, stumbling slightly but catching himself as his brother shot to his feet. “Come on, we’re gettin’ the hell outta here.”

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” Jason asked, brow raised. “I mean, have you seen yourself, you look as bad as I feel an’ then some.”

“I’m fine,” Dick waved him off just as his vision went black for a moment, and the ground open its arms to greet him. Instead, of the hard concrete bathing him in warmth, it was the arms of his brother, wrapping around his form and holding him against his broad chest.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Jason groaned, holding up the older man’s weight with surprising ease. “What do you mean ‘we’re gettin’ the hell outta here?’ You can barely hold yourself up, for shits sake.”

“Temporary set back.” Dick moaned, ignoring the blinding headache that pulsed across his skull. The taste of copper was thicker on his tongue than it ever was, but he ignore that as well.

Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re a fuckin’ wreck. Do you even have a plan or were you too simple minded to think that far ahead.”

“Hey,” Dick protested, tone slightly slurred – _that’s_ _not_ _good_ , Jason thought with a deep frown, brows notched and knitted. “Tha’s rude. And I do gotta a plan – thank you ‘ery much!”

“How ‘bout you tell it on the way, ‘kay?” The younger said, heading out the cell and practically dragging his brother behind him.

Through each step, pain shot up his leg with agonizing accuracy. It sent his nervous alight and put a hindrance of a limp through his leg. Luckily the swirl of the drugged concoction swimming through his veins was able to ease it slightly – along with giving him a slight boost that his body hated and loved at the same time.

_Adrenaline_ , he mused discontentedly. _Or_ _something_ _of_ _the_ _sort_.

“Got any idea where to go?” Jason spoke up after a moment, the walls were a maze of turns and twirls that made his stomach twist uncomfortably. If he hadn’t been casually starving for the last...last how ever long – the pain in his abdomen told him more than three days, which didn’t feel right within its self – he would’ve probably thrown up with the first wave of nausea.

Dick was silent too long of a moment for his brothers liking, and Jason shook him a bit to get him rousing back to some semblance of life.

The elder groaned, lashes fluttered to reveal hazed cerulean orbs.

“Wha?” He said, giving a slow blink as dribbles of sweat dropped from the tips of his lashes.

The reddish brown that crusted along his cheeks, cracked and pulled at his tone when his brows twitched uncomfortably.

“I asked – _hnn_ – if you knew where to go.” Jason restated, trying to keep his brother from falling into a heap on the ground. Arms screamed in protest as the muscles along his back pulled and strained with the sudden action.

Dick went quiet again, and if it hadn’t been for the fixed expression pinching his features, Jason would assume he’d passed out.

“I don’...” He licked his lips, giving a soft shake of his head – dark fringe swaying over his half-lidded orbs. “I don’ know...”

Jason let out a deep sigh, turning his head this way and that to gauge his surrounding more closely. Any minute someone with less than good intentions would find them. The next corner could be their last. The barrel of a gun their end. Every shuffle, stuttered breath, mild stumble, hiss of pain, wrong turn, _anything_ could tighten the noose around their necks and kick the stool out from beneath their feet.

“Alright, no worries. We’ll... we’ll figure this out,” He craned his neck to the side, cracking the tension from its vertebra and stretching out the muscles around it. Adjusting his hold, he heaved his brother up onto his shoulder, ignoring the flare of fire licking across his upper body.

“Together. We’ll figure this out together.”

 

* * *

  

_“So... looks like B-man and yourself have reconciled pretty well.” His voice was sharp, an edge to it that cut down Dick’s spine with icy vengeance._

_Yet, he hadn’t taken the moment to be bothered with it, not while he stared at the back of that blood red hoodie. One that brought back so many memories of a younger version of this person, with a too wide smile and gleam of mischief in his eyes.  
_

_It had been a month and he was still finding it disbelieving that this man was his baby brother. Still shocked at how much taller he was and the sheer ambiance of intimidation he held. A confidence in his abilities that could match Bruce’s. But it was never a confidence that met his eyes when he turned to face him. Instead it was a thick blanket of exhaustion, weariness and pain that tainted those newly colored orbs. Ones that the pit altered just like the shock of white that was his bangs.  
_

_“It wasn’t under the best circumstances.” Dick drawled, hoping it wasn’t going to scare him off. Just like every time before.  
_

_He wanted to take a step forward to close the distance, even if it was a fraction. He wanted to be closer, so much closer. But every opportunity, every time he took a step too close he was met with a mix of a sharp glare and panic before Jason bolted – unable to be found after.  
_

_Now, he forced himself to stay put. To choose his words as carefully as if defusing a bomb.  
_

_By god was it agonizing work.  
_

_Jason sighed, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Of course. It never is.”  
_

 

* * *

The twists and turns of the hallways would’ve been a walk in the park if they hadn’t been so disorienting on the mind. The limp in his leg and the weight sagging against him hadn’t made it better. Anxiety crawled against the reaches of his thoughts, threaten to over take his mind like ravagers to a castle.

Each unbound thought crawled over the towering high walls of his subconscious. Sinking their nails into the flesh of his optimism and threatening to tear at its small strands. The juices of hope draining away after one corner to the next, with only one thought as anxious guidance:

Which corner is to be their last.

_No_. He glared ahead, shaking his head enough that it hadn’t tampered with the headache crawling across his skull – like insects skittering under his skin. He shrugged his brother up onto his shoulder some more, holding up the bulk of the man’s weight on shaky legs and shakier arms.

With the amount of weight he was supporting at this point, his brother was more or less completely useless. Jason sighed. He could work with it, he’s been used to working alone, what’s another mission to add.

Teal orbs darted across the sudden approach of the hallways T-insurrection. One way could lead to freedom, the other certain death.

Pausing at its middle, he put his weight on his uninjured leg straining its muscles until it burned. Ignoring it fluently, he looked down the right hallway with a sneer. Already, his gut was telling him that was a bad idea, the unknown fluttering thoughts into his frazzled, post-drug hazed mind.

He quickly gandered down the hall on his left. It seemed less promising with flickering lights and an endless black void whispering toward him to follow. But he hadn’t felt the twist of nausea churn in the pits of his stomach upon its inspection.

He counted that as a win and limped his way down, unhelpful older brother in tow.

The deeper he huddle down the hallway, the more unease he felt with his decision. With the flickering yellow glow of overhead bulbs – their un-timetable flickering becoming an agonizing annoyance – to the cold chill that crawled up his skin like the long legs of spiders puttering up his arms.

He clenched his jaw, blinking away the bead of sweat that dripped onto his curtain of lashes. His heart went from collective anxiety ridden putter, to pounding against his chest with the force of a trapped jackrabbit. The sudden nervousness that seized his mind was almost sickening.

He felt like a fox in a field full of hounds.

Without doors, windows, or even the occasional draft to indicate there was an outside world, this twist of painful anxiety spiraled through his mind. His chest ached with the vice on his lungs – breath speeding up, but his mind and years of conditioning telling him to keep it quiet – and the muscle along his body continued to tense.

The sputter of a chill went down his spine like ice cubes trapped under his tattered uniform. The constant nagging of his thoughts warned him of danger. It was near, it was close, it was here.

_But_ _where_?

With each step, his orbs darted across his surrounding, double, triple checking every nook and cranny that any type of human could be hiding in. The looming shadows that crawled across the walls like demonic creatures, hands splayed across the brick work and toes curling into the cracks across the ground. The chill of their touch sending a shuttered through his trembling form, a flinch here, a twitch there.

He was a boy birthed to the shadows, trained to conquer them like a Roman king to new land. But in this moment, he felt betrayed by his home. Those black masses no longer feeling like the sanctuary he felt familiar in since he was young. They felt suffocating . Whispering threats into his ears to continue to putter into their open arms. Into the trap that undoubtedly lay ahead.

“Yeah, this isn’t working.” He mumbled to himself while adjusting his hold on his brother and prepared to turn around, risk going the other way instead.

The toe of his boot ground into the gravel of the crumbling floors just as a sharp _click_ from behind met his ear before deafening it with a _bang_. Something tore through Jason’s shoulder and sent him to the ground with a sudden yelp. Dick sprawling out besides him, barely a sound coming from his form.

“ _tsk_ - _tsk_. Knew that guy was no good.” The _tick_ - _tack_ of designer heels echoed throughout the empty hallway as he step around their prone forms, settling just besides the younger’s head.

Poisoned green orbs glared up as Bobby Russo crouched down besides Jason’s head, victorious smirk carving into his cheeks. His own met those murderous eyes without reaction, raising his hand to cart through those two-toned locks almost fondly...

...until he grip their strands and yanked his head up.

“Unfortunately for you, he was easily swayed. Told use everything we needed to know about where the two of you were headed.” Russo drawled, grin stretching across his features until it reminded Jason a certain other nightmare he’d rather not relive – _thank_ _you_ _very_ _much_.

“Now!” He released the boys hair, ignoring the way his head thudded against the unforgiving ground and stood up. “This little break out attempt of yours has put a slight kink in my plans. No matter, I’m sure we can figure it all out. After all, who’s going to come to your rescue? Batman? Ha! Don’t make me laugh.”

He turned back to sneer at the murder that lusted across that toxic color. “What do you say, _Red_ _Hood_?”

“ _Fuck_. _You_.” Jason growled, teeth bared, lip curled, and fingers digging into the loose cement surrounding his hands – their grains digging into his fingers as he coiled them into fists. He posed his body, raising it off the ground _ever_ _so_ _slightly_ , ignoring the blood puddling from his shoulder.

“You wish-” The man hacked on his words as the steel toes of a boot was shattering the center of his chest and the ribs that rested beneath its skin.

Russo gasped and slammed into the wall behind him, offhandedly watching as this _boy_ settled into a crouch before raising to his feet, seeming to ignore the blood blossoming across his shoulder and the sheen of sweat that dribbled down the sides of his face.

Grinding his teeth together, jaw tight and eyes narrowed as the haze of pain crawled across his vision, Russo spat a glob of blood at the boys feet with a wheeze.

“ _ **You**_ _wish_ you should’ve killed me when you had the chance.” Jason bit, venom pooling his words with lethal intensity, hands loose at his sides as his glare stared into the man, unrelentingly. Death coloring its shades as that green intensified until it was almost glowing.

For a moment, a spark of fear fluttered across Russo’s orbs, before a smirk replaced it instead.

“Killing you would only ruin the fun though.”

Before the younger could clip a response, something cracked across the side of his head.

He was out before he hit the floor.

 

* * *

 

Once again, the lights were too bright, the air too stiff, the implications too obvious.

Just as before, coming back to the world of wakefulness was agonizing and the thrum along the back of his head was another cube of sugar to an already sweet tea.

Dark lashes fluttered open, teal orbs wincing at the luminous light sinking its tendrils of brightness into his cornea. He almost hissed if he wasn’t glaring through his lashes at the form that stepped into its ray. A shadow casting over his form.

He blinked the sudden assault away – vision clearing enough to make out the grin contorting on Russo’s face. It twisted his cheeks and blossomed crows feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Wakey, Wakey. Eggs and bakey.”

_Déjà_ _vu_.

His glare sharpened as Russo crowded his face, head cocked to the side like a curious mutt. Eyes carting over his face and body with a type of... intimate interest. It made skin crawl as he naturally pulled away, imputing a certain type of distance between the two of them.

Luckily, Russo did bother to invade it again and returned to his full height, fingers fiddling with his shirts stained cuff link – the damage he was sure he inflicted on him before seeming to be gone.

And as if the man was reading his thoughts he opened his mouth into an all winning smirk.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m not on the ground writhing in agony – unlike yourself-“

“I wasn’t-“

“Well, I’ll be nice and tell ya. It’s the least I could do, right?” Russo snapped, attempting to ignore the interruption. “That shipment you and you’re _friend_ here –“ He waved a hand non-comically over his shoulder toward his brother. “-so graciously intervened in was actually a parting gift from our friends in South America.”

“Monologuing. My luck day-“ A hand cracked across his cheek, whipping his head to the side.

Russo shook his hand out before continuing. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the serum _Venom_ , correct?” He didn’t wait for the sarcastic reply before continuing. “Well, this is a similar type of substance except instead of enhancing the users form via muscle distortion, it enhances other areas of the body. The biggest one being; how the mind perceives pain. It cuts off certain receptors within the brain and with enough use, changes them completely.

“Now, I may be a newbie in this type of exchange but I’m familiar enough with the drug business to know this little vial,” He pulled a small, green glowing vial from the inside of his jacket. “Will earn me a fortune. Hell, maybe sell it to the right investors and we’ll have an army of tens to thousands of men who don’t know pain. And pain is what makes us human... right?”

“What’s your point?” Jason snapped, fighting against the ever dragging pit of tiredness.

Another hand sliced across his face, something cutting into cheek and fire bursting across skin. He didn’t make a sound, too exhausted to bother acknowledging it.

“My point is this, you’re going to have all this information. On me, my business, my plans, and future endeavors. But _you_ –“ Russo latched onto his chin and held his head up. “Aren’t going to be able to tell anybody about it.”

“By killing me?” Jason mused, but couldn’t put any effort into smirking.

“By ripping you off your high horse the way you did Gotham’s underworld.” Russo growled, and released his chin.

“One-“

A fist snapped across his jaw, teeth rattling together painfully. He should’ve expected it, but the last however many days of this game, has dragged his thoughts through the mud and what ever drug that was vexing through his system hadn’t helped them resurface into anything remotely helpful.

“Piece-“

The air was heaved from his lungs as the force of a train went sailing into is gut, sending him doubling over with a wheeze. Every previous notion of thought rattling against his skull an angry thrum.

“At-“

He couldn’t even get a breath of air back as other was clamping his jaw shut, bitting through the tip of his tongue. His bodies sour metallic tang filling his mouth.

“A-“

His molars cracked under the pressure of his clamped teeth as Russo drilled his fist into his wounded shoulder, sending it alight. Every nerve across his shoulder burned with fiery vengeance.

“Time!”

The chair tipped to the side as something burned under the fist carving into his cheek and his body hit the ground. Every ache and pain along his form came to life as he let a yelp escape his breath upon impact. At this point he just let his body sag, hanging along the side, the handle digging into already bruised ribs as the cuffs around his wrists chaffed his skin. Each attempt at taking in a breath of air, scorched his lungs and flared his form with agony. He kept to stuttered breaths, hopping it would be enough until he could regain himself.

“Alright, now we can get this shit-show on the road.” Russo turned his attention toward his brother – one of which was hunched over. With the pain tearing across his fallen form, he couldn’t tell wether his brother was still out or faking it. That hadn’t stopped Russo from waving his hand in a way of ordering, though.

There was a struggle off in the shadows and as it came closer, he could make out the scuffed and battered form of the stranger from before. The same one who played words like a violinist to notes, with a smooth manipulative tongue.

Conflicted feelings were jolting through his mind when the man was shoved to his knees and a hand was gripping his dark hair, yanking his head back. Blood trailed down one of his eyes, the dark iris bright against the red veins tainting the white of his eye. His brows pinched in a snarl as he bared his teeth and glaring at Russo – not once did he pay a mind to the others.

Russo’s grin sharpened as he sauntered in between his brother and self until he was standing before the man, stuffing a hand into his slacks.

“I’ve gotta know; what on _earth_ was going through your mind?” Russo mused, raising a brow challengingly as he stared down at the stranger.

The man glared back, his words dripping with venom as they drawled across his tongue. “That you’re a child who decided to take his ball and go home as soon as the big man said no.”

Russo’s lip twitched into a slight frown.

“Unfortunately for you, _he_ already knows.” The man sneered, something sparking across his dark gaze – it looked a lot like victory.

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking about-“

“Oh, you do.” The man interrupted, ignoring the sharp glare burning into his head. “The Falcones don’t need to know the information you’re so high on getting. Mario already knows, so do the people just below him. Everything you’re doing here, is a complete waste of time and _he_ won’t stand for you coming after his kids.”

Russo seemed to finally understand what the man has been implying and nodded slowly with a hum.

“Course. Course, course, _course_!” Russo seethed. “Should’ve known a cop such as yourself, was in on this.” Russo shook his head. “Well, this is what I get for trusting as easily as I did. Unfortunately for you,” He whipped his hand from his pocket and sitting within his grasp, barrel digging into the mans forehead, was a small two shot pistol.

“I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Then he pulled the trigger.

The sharp echo split against his ears and thrummed through his skull. He whipped his head toward the sound and there, slumping toward the ground, was the man, a single hole trailing blood down his forehead as he crashed to the ground. If he wasn’t so used to the sight, he’d gag at the flaps of skin along the back of his head. The matted hairs and discolored shades of pinks and reds – it didn’t take an idiot to know the color of the human brain.

Forcing himself from the carnage, Jason jerked his head and into the heated metal barrel digging into his forehead.

“Wait!” Dick jumped, eyes wide and awake as he stared at Russo and the gun pressed into his brothers head.

“Oh, you gunna answer my question **now** , _Mr_. _Grayson_?” Russo practically growled, turned his attention toward Dick.

“Just... wait.” He breathed – if his hands were free Jason could picture him holding his hands out in a way to calm the situation. Unfortunately, the thought was short lived when the gun was removed from his head and pointed at his older brother instead.

“I’m _done_ waiting! Answer the _goddamned_ question or I’m killing one of you! I don’t care _who_!” Russo screamed, shaking the gun around to emphasize the point of his threat – and considering he’d kill another man without much thought, Jason’d assume he’d do the same to one of the them if he didn’t get what he wanted.

“I don’t know what you want!” Dick sputtered, but something about it was playing with the mans rage and buying time.

“Don’t know what I...” A huff of a laugh escaped the man as his arm went slag and the gun sag in his hand by his side. He carted a hand through his locks and sighed. “Alright.”

Russo stepped away, going behind Jason’s toppled over chair. Then suddenly there were hands gripping his arms and yanking him up off the ground. He gritted his teeth against making a sound as his body flared to life.

Then the hands were gone, and behind him was the tussle of fabric, the metallic tang of tools and utensils- their uses unknown – until there was a sudden spark of electricity surging through the younger’s shoulder.

Jason jumped biting his tongue, body instantly tensing at the shock before it was gone within the second.

Russo was back in his sights, staring at Dick with a sneer, lips curled and teeth bared. He was angry. No, _furious_ was the correct term, and who knew where that rage was going to be directed toward. For his brothers sake, Jason hoped it would be him – unlike Golden Boy, he knew how to take the pain. Was bred into it, killed with it. He could take a little more.

“I’m only going to ask this **once** , _Mr_. _Grayson_.” He held the taser up, pressing the button as blue light sparked across the duel prongs.

“ _Who_ _is_ _Batman_?”

Dick opened his mouth to the response. Probably to say something not so far off from the truth, maybe a fake name that could buy them some time. But his younger brother, his _dumb_ , **_smart_** - _ **ass**_ baby brother, beat him to it with a scuff.

“A prick.”

If the situation wasn’t so dire, maybe even _life_ or _death_ , Dick would sag in his chair with a long, exhausted sigh.

However, it was dire – _life_ or _death_ dire – and Russo didn’t bother to face him. He just stared at Dick with a less than impressed look, but something sparkled in his eyes, and all Dick could do was tense with painful anticipation.

Watch as he slowly turned around to face that stupid, _smug_ smirk, that challenging look which was always there to save his brothers life, but in this moment, it was probably going to end it – or, at least a part of it.

“Wrong answer.”

There was no hesitation when Russo jabbed the tased into his little brothers throat. Before he could even think about it and the cold metal pressed against his skin, thousands of volts were sent into the boys neck, their prongs piercing through the skin and sending his body into a wave of painful convolutions. The boy screamed, a ragged horsed thing that graded against everyone’s ears.

Dick stared in horror before his mind was screaming at him and soon that scream was crawling up his throat and bleeding into his words.

“ _Please_! _Please_! _Stop_!” He begged, pulling at his binds – ignoring the chaffed skin as crimson coated the metallic chains.

No amount of pleading halted the electricity that flowed through his body, nor did it silence the agony of screams until, suddenly, they broke, the voltage taking its place in the silence.

“ _Bruce_ _Wayne_! _Bruce_ _Wayne_ _is_ _Batman_!”

Instantly the device was off and Jason sagged forward, breath wheezing through his teeth as his chest heaved and sweat dripped from the tip of his nose and onto the ground. Tremors ran through his body, occasionally jolting in the aftermath of electricity.

Russo twirled around to face the elder, the grin cutting into his cheeks made him look like a monster.

_Just_ _another_ _to_ _torment_ _his_ _baby_ _brother_.

“There we go. Now was that so hard?” He sneered, tossing the taser aside, the sound clanging against the ground and forcing both boys to flinch.

Dick refused to look at him. To meet that victory sunken gaze with his own and opt to stare at his brother. Watching as his body twitched and shuttered. Listening to each rasp of air that he struggled to pull into his lungs. Just stared at him with wide, horrified, orbs. There color twisted with unexplainable emotions that only made the man inherently gleeful.

Made Russo want to cheer for his win. For watching the fear for his friends safety in the vigilantes eyes, the shock and disbelieve of the situation as a whole, and the best part of it all; the dawning realization of the identity he let slip through his lips. As it sunk into his skin like jagged claws, his gaze slowly fell to settle on the ground, staring past it into a certain type of nothingness.

That type of stare that occupied soldiers who returned home from war. The emptiness that twisted his eyes as he stared at the floor. No longer was there any type of defiance left to combat the gut churning realization and resignation. No longer was there character or the emotions he expressed so often throughout each interrogation segment.

Just _emptiness_.

 

* * *

 

_”You’re just like him, ya know.” Jason was staring at him now, gaze impassive, heat vacant from his tone and the words that poisoned his tongue._

“ _What?” Dick knocked his brows together, unsure but sure of his words.  
_

_“Bruce.” Came the simple reply.  
_

_And so are you, he thought in return. Out of all his brothers, his first related to their father more than he would even realize.  
_

_“A complete and total **prick**.”  
_

_Dick was silent for a moment, staring at those vibrant green orbs – there baby blue vacant from their shades – then gave into the bubble of laughter which crawled up his throat and burst from his lips.  
_

_The tight lines of Jason’s shoulders tensed as he jerked his head up, eyeing the elder with anticipation and surprise.  
_

_Dick shook his head, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Pot calling the kettle black, don’t ya think?”  
_

_The younger shook away his surprise and glared.  
_

_Some things never truly change._

 

* * *

He leaned back in his chair, debating on resting his feet on the surface of his desk and ignore the towers of paper work that littered it surface. He drew the cigarette up to his lips, the nicotine and pungent taste swirling within his lungs and filling his mouth. The exhaled, smoke curling around his head and leaving through the open window besides him – the putter of rain extinguishing its color.

With a grunt, he pulled his legs up, propping them up onto his desk – ignoring the way his heels crumpled the papers below them. He was ready to shut his mind off, allow the mild buzz of bourbon in his system to ease him into some type of relaxation, when the door to his office burst open, the blinds along the window shuttering.

“Commissioner! Sorry to bother you, it’s urgent!” One of his officers began, his eyes wide and uniform slightly ruffled as he waved a set of papers in his grasp.  
Gordon sighed, removing his feet from the desk and leaning forward. “What is it?” He asked, unkindly.

“It’s Millers. He sent this for you and said it was urgent.” The officer stated, stepping over and handing Gordon the papers – whom took it with a raised brow.

Adjusting his glasses, he read over the transcript, each word borrowing into his mind and his pulse raised ever so slightly. Once he was finished, he got to his feet and yanked his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Call Batman, tell him its an emergency.” Gordon ordered, darting out of the office, leaving the note to drifted onto his desk. The knocked over bourbon glass seeped and stained its white color, while the cigarette still burned at its side – smoke curling out of the window and into the rain.


	4. Do You Believe in Love, I Wonder?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you’ve waited too long for an update...
> 
> All honesty though, life was busy and when it wasn’t, I was unmotivated to write.
> 
> Nonetheless, this is probably my favorite chapter. I’ve changed up my writing style a bit - hopefully that’s a little obvious - made it so it flows a bit better with a poetic-ness to it as well.
> 
> Either way, thank you guys and gals for all the love this story has been given. Y’all are the reason I finished this and didn’t leave it abandoned in my docks!
> 
> <3 Rhoverty

It hadn’t matter how much time passed, just that it did, and it did slowly. Each second ticking against the clock like a countdown to an uncertain end. A countdown which brought back raging memories and nightmares that drowned his subconscious on restless nights.

He stared at the tablet in his grasp, greying orbs boring into its screen with guilt and regret simmering in his thoughts. Each scribble and signature mocking him with its words of failure and heartbreak. Whispering into his ear like the scribe of the shadow of a fallen soldier.

They made him sick to his stomach.

The _what if’s_ and _if that’s_ gnawing at his mind when reality told him the past was unchangeable. He couldn’t change the fact that two of his boys were resting in beds in front of him. Under medical surveillance, machines taped to their chests and notched in the crooks of their elbows.

An induced coma kept them under, knowing that they couldn’t leave well enough alone and busy bodies demanded busy actions. No, busy bodies needed rest. Time to heal and stave away mental anguish.

Bruce turned back to the tablet, flitting between his eldest and second. The pages listing injuries, procedures, and further types of medication and actions required for their full recovery. Words he bore into his mind to analyze for nights staring at his ceiling and the questioning of uncertain outcomes.

_If I’d done this._

_If I’d done that_.

Now, he stared at his sons. Remorse and shame blurring his vision and trailing his cheeks. Remorse for not being there before everything. Shame for letting it happen all the same.

He ran his bare hands through his own hair, tugging at aging strands while exhaling an exhausted sigh.

“Fuck.”

* * *

Rain pelted against the onyx of the uninformed, seeping into small crevices and bleeding into cotton fabric. The whites of his lens kept his vision clear, but the scowl studied intensely on the commissioners frazzled expression.

“You called?” Bruce inquired, nudging his chin toward the bright light of the Bat-Signal.

Jim nodded, tossing brown hair against his head while producing an envelope.

“Let’s skip the niceties,” The man began. “One of my informants was just killed and before, sent a rather intriguing report. I thought you’d like to take a look.”

He handed Bruce the envelope, which he took, fixated on the older man’s shifting stance and notched brows.

“Any idea what I should be expecting?” Bruce held up the envelope in regard, keeping it unopened.

“Turns out your boys are in trouble, Nightwing and Red Hood.” Jim explained, noticing the subtle way the vigilante went rigged with a sharp breath. “Bobby Russo, Falcones man, has ‘em. There’s more information on their whereabouts within the report.”

Bruce took the information in, processing it while flipping open the envelope and practically tearing the paper out. He creased the page open, ignoring the dribbles of rain that tapped and seeped into its pen marks.

His eyes darted over each words, taking the information and sorting it within his mind until he had the report memorized and stuffed in a pocket along his pouch.

“Know anything about the _Venom_ he’s talking about?” Bruce inquired, studying the commissioners face for any signs. The signs of distress, of lies, or brittle uncertainties.

“Besides the fact that it makes the man virtually indestructible and superhuman, no. All the information I have on it is what my informant wrote. Unfortunately, with him dead, there’s not much else we know.”

Bruce hummed, pondering a moment before giving the man a nod.

“Thank you, Jim, I appreciate you bring this to me.”

Something in Jim’s expression shifted, tightened into a spark of something teetering in disconcerting. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Bruce notched his brows in return - even if the man couldn’t see it. “What do you mean?” He subconsciously growled, defensive toward the man’s accusation - like the hackles of a dog bristling across his back.

“About your boys.” Jim clarified, voice steady and unaffected by the subtle threat looming in the vigilantes voice.

The silence in return, was all the man needed when he gave a nod and turned on his heel, preparing his leave.

“I know they’re your kids, Bruce.” Jim tossed over his shoulder. “Maybe you should be more of a father and keep an eye on them. This wouldn’t have happened if that was the case.”

Bruce opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but the man was already gone before the words could manifest.

* * *

“You’re gunna leave wrinkles if ya keep tha’ look up...”

The voice pulled him from his thoughts and the rocky terrain they’ve tumbled down. Head snapping up, he falls into lidded cerulean blue orbs staring at him, a faint smile on the split lips of his eldest.

Bruce instantly returns the smile, standing from his chair and leaning over his son, fingers carting through soft ebony strands - ones absent of the blood and sweat that once clumped it together in a matte of brutality and crippled emotions.

“How’re you doing, chum?” Bruce asks, voice brittle but fleeting strength.

A strength he needs as much as his boy.

To see the man he’s looked up to since he was young; strong and fearless - however much he feels against those illusions.

Dick winces as he sits up a little, leaning into his fathers hand.

“Been better,” he mumbles with a light, wet chuckle. “Wha’ about you, ya look bout ready to pass out?”

Of course, always the selfless. Tossing aside his own well-being for others.

Bruce wants to flick him for his carelessness, for worrying about others rather than himself. But he indulges, resting his hand on the boy’s bruised cheek, thumb brushing under his eye as if to toss away an imaginary tear - before, it was anything but.

“Been better.” He returns with his own gentle chuckle.

It’s hard to imagine his boy smiling as well as he is now. From finding him cradling his brothers limp form, a drum of apologies tumbling from his quivering lip. The blood that saturated his cheeks and bled into his uniform, spilled a tale of pain and commitment.

Pain for the answers these men wanted.

Commitment for trying to get them.

* * *

He stared out past the streets and tall buildings. A city that breathed with blood in her lungs as her tears fell from the sky. The paper in his hands crinkled until it crumpled and was balled up, sailing over the edge and into the waters below.

His teeth ground together as he followed the writings down, landing in the hard seat of the plane propelled under him to catch his descent. Commands were punched into its systems, sending it toward the edges of Gotham and her crippling homes.

“ _No, Bruce, it’s you who doesn’t understand.” Jason snapped, his voice as wicked as the poisonous color tainting his orbs. “This is my part of town, my gang, my product, my bust! Stay out it!”_

_Bruce was at a lost, staring at his boy - one who no longer stood on the tips of his toes to glare, but hunched down to sneer - thoughts twisting across him mind like a kaleidoscope of grief and guilt._

I’m doing this to help you _, he wanted to explain._

I’m doing this because I care about you _, he wanted to murmur._

I’m doing this because I love you _, he wanted to scream._

_As much as the words wanted to manifest, to breath life into his lungs and express his emotion, reality stamped them down. Buried them under layers of fear, regret, and cowardice. Never to see the light toward his son and those toxic orbs. A color that bled into a sea of blue, shaping it into the shades and swirls of Lazarus and her pools._

_“You need my help.” So stupidly did those words come to life from Bruce’s lips, and did he regret them the moment his son sharped and snarled._

_Like an alley cat hissing it’s warning against the man, Bruce was a fool to forego raised hackles and reached out a hand to pet._

_“So did that kid in Ethiopia, but where were you on that one!” And the cat would swipe his claws with the intent to draw blood._

_He succeed long before storming from the cave._

The warehouse felt muggy and cold, sinking into his suit and simmering beneath its layers. He flexed his hands beneath the shadow of his cape, feeling the creak of aging joints and burning of new bruises.

Stupid enough was one to stumble through the hallways and freeze before the vigilante, gun raised and poised for a bullet.

Bruce sneered. “Where are they?” He growled, the persona burning through his chest, the rage of a father burning behind his orbs.

“I...I don’t-“ A hand balled up the lackeys shirt, slamming them into the wall with a thud, instantly Bruce was in their face, lips curled with a snarl.

“Where are they?” Bruce asked once more, voice low and teething with an animalistic growl.

The lackey whimpered, shaky finger pointing down the hall and toward a flicker of light along its side.

“Th-the room r-right there.” They stuttered.  
Bruce grunted, then slammed his fist into the lackeys face, rendering them unconscious and dropping them to the floor in a heap.

The wisp of his cape cascade over their body as he headed down the hallway and toward the trickle of light. Beyond, he heard tethers of cries, the soft sound of a muffled whimper.

The blood in his veins boiled. Red darkened his vision and the rage of a drum muffled his ears.

“S’okay,” the voice murmured. “I know it hurts, but it’s gunna be okay. S’gunna be okay.”

All he could do was stand there. Stand in that doorway, back to the hallway and the bodies it held. Stand and stare with wide eyes and bared teeth.

“ _Watch him.” Bruce said, barely glancing at his oldest while skimming over files and their reports._

_“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.” Dick retorted, no doubt a brow raised and hands on his hips._

_Bruce grunted._

_Dick sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep an eye on him. Anything happens though and he yells at me, I’m blaming you. Just so you know.”_

_“That’s fine.”_

Staring at the two of them now, everything was anything but fine. It was as if the situation took the word, tossed it into a raging fire and poured gasoline over top its edges.

Swollen cerulean orbs stared in his direction, wide and rimmed with red. A single tear fell from its edges with a tremble across his lip.

“I’m so sorry. M’sorry. Please,” Those words begged. “I did it to protect ‘em. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Don’ be mad at ‘em. My fault. All my fault. I’m sorry. M’so sorry.”

He hadn’t understood what that meant.

Couldn’t understand its hysteria and pleas.

Nor what it meant for himself and his family.

Until days later as he watched the confession tumble from his eldest sons quivering lips, and the bold letters of the newspaper in his trembling grasp.

* * *

“How’s Jay?” Dick asked, glancing over his fathers shoulders to look at his younger brother, concern knitted into his brows.

“Stable.” Bruce replied, resisting the urge to look down, look ashamed and guilty.

“What about...”

“We wouldn’t know until he wakes up.” Rice interrupted. “Dr. Thompkins has a theory, but we’re waiting for test results. She wants to run them elsewhere to understand what we could do... do to help. If...”

“...if it comes to that.” Dick finished. “Yeah, I understand. The question is though,” he looked toward his brothers resting form, orbs hovering on the thread of white bandages encircling the younger’s neck. “Will he?”

Bruce finally glanced over his shoulder toward his other boy, taking care to watch the ease of his chest move with his breathing. A sharp, burning pain seared through his heat at the sight and the troubles of the future to come.

“I don’t know.” Bruce sighed, defeated and pained. “I truly don’t know.”

* * *

Words peppered the pages, yellowing with age and crinkled with numb fingers. Long have the words lost their meaning, each a repeat of the last as they mingle and merge into the same course of black ink painted across each feather of paper.

His brows knitted together as he tried focusing on the story and its characters. Tried to play the scene out within his mind; the dialogue, the actions, the motion of each individual as it swirled into nothing but blotches of crimson bleeding into old memories.

Memories of cold floors and damp bars. The taste of iron thick on his tongue and the beads of sweat trailing down bloodied features. Tacky crimson splotching tear stained cheeks and cinching the throbbing pain around his throat.

A pain that had yet to leave him weeks later.

Subconsciously he reached up, scratched at the bruises around his neck and attempted to cast a sound. Only to have the air leave his lips in a wordless cry.

The first time, he had wept, unable to comprehend that new reality. To open his mouth and scream. To part his lips in whispers. To sob into his hands as nothing came out.

Just the airy hitch of his breath and a muted sniffle.

The second time, he’d thought it was a dream. To wake up and believe he had his voice, an insult at the tip of his tongue. Only to have it tumble through the air and fall into the hands in his lap. A sound as breathless as the absence of air in his lungs.

The third time, he’d allow the truth to settle, to really allow it to overcome him and choke him with its embrace. Suffocate him as the panic burned across his nerves. Trying to plead, to beg, to breathe out the words he so desperately wanted brought to life.

Only for it all to escape his lungs in the panic of reality and the future it held in one breathy whisper of nothingness.

Now, he stares at his book, unfocused and so very lost in the words he tried to grasp. Tried to distract himself against the burning sensation of vulnerability and helplessness he’s been settled into. Without his humor, his sarcasm, his words, he didn’t know how else to cope; but to stare at the same page until sleep carted him off into the silence tased into him.

“ _Paralysis_ ,” Leslie had called it. “ _The shock traumatized his vocal cords, paralyzing them for the foreseeable future.”_

 _“But it can be reversed, right?”_ Jason had signed, hands shaky and symbols sloppy.

She and Bruce looked at one another before Leslie slumped her shoulders with a sigh. She looked much older than her years.

“ _I don’t know.”_ She answered honestly, and Jason’s expression fell, heart seizing in his chest.

Bruce reached over and placed a hand on his sons shoulder, giving it a squeeze. _“We’ll figure something out.”_

All Jason did was nod. Resigned to his future.

Sighing, he marked the page and closed his book, forgetting the story all together as he stared at his hands. Knuckles bruised, digits wrapped, and stitches staring up at him in mocking.

 _Weak_ , they whispered.

 _Pathetic_ , they hissed.

 _Should have been left for dead_ , he agreed.

“Hey,” He’s startled from his self-loath to the sudden voice of his father, the man looking at him with gentle eyes and a tight frown.

 _Hey_ , he wants to say back. _Mm_ , he wants to murmur. Instead, he simply nods, grinding his teeth until it hurt.

“How’re you feeling?” Bruce asks, settling into the chair besides his bed.

Jason gives him a pointed look.

 _How do you think_ , he wants to hiss.

But he shakes his head instead, eyes slinking down to his hands, picking at the nubs of his nails.

Bruce sighs, staring at his son with sympathetic eyes. Unimaginable to the thoughts swiveling through his boy’s head.

Thoughts of sorrow and regret, guilt and hatred. For the man who did this, for the people who mocked it, for himself for allowing it.

“Hey,” Bruce reached over and took his sons hand into his own, thumb gently carting over his knuckles. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jason tugs his hand away and begins to sign; “Is it though?”

“It may seem hard right now, but Leslie never said no. There’s still a chance to reverse this.” He patted his sons leg, hoping it translate well and not disastrous.

It has before.

“I’m still going to be Red Hood though. This doesn’t change anything,” And he waved his hand across his mouth and throat in gesture.

Bruce frowned, a small minuscule thing that shifted the wrinkles adoring his features.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He replied, words hushed and thrumming through the air between them.

Jason glared at him, masking the hurt in the only way he knows how. Shifting his pain into the rage that pooled at the corners of his vision in poisonous slithers of green.

His fathers brows twitched until they knitted, creasing the skin in between. “I’m not saying this is the end. But what I am saying is...” He sighed, dipping his head, eyes fixed on his sons knuckles.

“Give it time.”

The boy huffed, gaining the man’s attention as he fluttered words betwixt his fingers like the twist and twirl of a pen in fidgety hands.

“I’m not weak,” they floundered. “I can still do it! This changes nothing! I can still fight, I can still help!” His fingers froze, hovering in the air as his expression tightened into something like agitation, trepidation.

 _Don’t give up on me_ , was the unspoken.

His father placed his hands atop his own, feeling them tremble beneath his palms.

“I’m not giving up on you,” was the spoken.

* * *

Dick wasn’t the least bit surprised to find his brother missing as soon as Alfred gave the all clear. Once the most of the damage was healed and future rehabilitation was, reluctantly, discussed, Jason was gone. Like a speck of dirt in the wind.

He wasn’t though, expecting to wonder the halls of Wayne manner and come to face the familiar smell of cigarette smoke wafting through one of the rooms. A room he hadn’t stepped foot in for years, other than to glance past its wooden framing and gander inside.

The door was open, peering into the soft colors of cream walls and a freshly made bed - the pillows propped and fluffed. Dick shuffled over and glanced inside.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, cigarette betwixt his fingers as he took a long, senseless drag, was his younger brother.

Beyond the city and her suffocating smog, soft rays of the evening sun feathered into the room.

Gentle, fiery colors cast over the younger’s form, making hard edges look soft and so very vulnerable.

“Jay?” Dick asked, whispering the name as to not startle the other.

It hadn’t worked as well as he was hoping, given the sharp tension snapping into those broad shoulders.

Dick expected a sharp _what_ in answer to his intrusion, but reality stuttered his heart when he remember that wasn’t possible. Instead, Jason glanced over his shoulder, cig dangling from his lip as he scowled - teal orbs narrowing.

He jerked his head in a motion that implied the finesse of _what_. It fitted his brother perfectly well as if he’d said it.

“Sorry,” Dick apologies, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand - the other branded with a sling, cast fitted around his wrist. “Thought you would’ve been gone by now...”

Jason gave him look, one Dick couldn’t quiet decipher, before watching the younger wave his hand toward a bag sitting on the ground besides the bed. Dick gave an understanding nod.

Taking the cig from his lip, Jason expelled the smoke from his lungs before stubbing the cherry out on the bottom of his boot, butt stuffed into his jacket pocket. He popped his neck while standing, picking up the bag and tossing it over his shoulder before facing his brother.

In the days when Lazarus thrummed through his veins like the march of a wild heard, anger driving actions and decisions; this stand off would have turned into a fight. Dick would say something more than regretful to hide behind his guilt, while Jason would use insults and bleeding remarks to hide behind his fear.

Now, they stand across from each other, an understanding settling into the air between them. A type of companionship that took years to mend into something manageable. No longer was the hate tearing the tension between them, but a nervous, questionable banter.

Dick stared at him, brows notching slightly. He opened his mouth to saying something - meaningful, amusing, a question, he hadn’t had the faintest clue. But it came together when the younger took three strides and engulfed him into a hug, bag hitting the ground besides them.

Dick sighed, a soft smile quirking his lips as he returned the hug - one arm trusting through black curls, the other useless at his chest.

Much to Dick’s disappointment, Jason pulled away – quickly, with an air that said it hadn’t happened – hands come up to fiddle signs in front of Dicks face.

“This didn’t happen,” He began, and Dick laughed, a hearty one that startled even himself.

“Right, cause I’m not gunna brag about my little brother hugging me.” Dick smirked with a wink.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Just consider it a thanks.” He signed. “For not dying. That would suck. Bruce and satan would never forgive me.”

Dick raised a brow, he may have been a little rocky on his signing, so he might have seen wrong, but... “Satan?”

“Damian.”

“Oh, that makes since.”

Jason shook his head unimpressed before grabbing his bag and giving him a once over.

Pleased, he nodded and shoulder past his brother to head out the door and into the hallways.

“Hey, Jay?” Dick piped before he could leave.

Jason paused, eyes forward and down the hall, but paying attention nonetheless.

“Good luck out there. It’s might be rough but if you’re ever in a slump, call me. It doesn’t matter when or what time. My line will always open.”

Jason looked up at him with a raised brow.

”Call?” He signed sarcastically.

It was his brothers turn to raise a brow before facepalming.

“Video call! Or text. Either one words. Sorry...” Dick revised.

Jason shook his head, but Dick could see the slight quirks of his lips. He gave one last nod before disappearing, leaving his big brother in a room of absent memories and mixed emotions.

It wasn’t the best circumstances, but it was progress. Things aren’t going to get better instantly, but maybe, maybe one day they will.

Maybe one day, he’ll even get that call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side Note : If you’re curious, I do have plans on turning this into a series. I like the concept and I want to explore more into. 
> 
> Unfortunately, it might be awhile, I’m going to plan it out beforehand (cuz I didn’t with this one...) and get a few chapters written before posting. I’ve also got two other stories I’m in the process of writing so, who knows. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how many chapters this will be yet, but I’m thinking less than 4. 
> 
> Tags will update as the story progresses. 
> 
> Might get better, might get worse. Who knows.
> 
> -Rhoverty
> 
> Song Inspo - “Hey Brother” by Avicii


End file.
